


Changed Circumstances

by Failed_to_Deanon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 125,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the tail end of Robert's Rebellion, in King's Landing things do not go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jaime, Elia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
> 
> A/N: There is graphic violence and death.
> 
> A/N #2: Given the AU nature of the plot, characters may be ooc, but, a particular Jaime chapter in A Storm of Swords would not leave me alone.

A gasp and a gurgle were all that Jaime heard before the sword in his hands hissed as it slid from the body it was thrust into. He watched frozen as the previously wide eyes of the man, the King, in front of him dim and the body fell in an undignified heap. Jaime could just stand silently. As he wiped the blood from his sword, multiple thoughts both swam and screamed in his head. The only thing he knew was he had not wanted to do it but that it had to be done and he did not have much time left. His father's forces were on their way.

"Oh".

At the low sound he spun around so quickly and raised his bloodied sword to defend himself. Seeing who it was he did not know if he should aim the sword higher or drop it entirely.

Aerys's dark-haired, good-daughter stood at the door of the Throne Room with a babe at her breast; in the dim light he could see the shape of her young daughter behind her skirts. He raises his head and he sees her lips parted in surprise though he can not decipher the other expressions flashing upon her face.

As much as he felt relief just moments before, now he feels dread and dismay.

She was not supposed to be here; neither were the children. He thought they were secured in the Holdfast. Why and how where they here? How much had she seen? He wondered if she would believe some sort of lie.

"Cover him." He almost dropped his sword. The abrupt and clear tone of her voice surprised him as much as the words she spoke. He had never heard that tone from her, not even when she was angry; not even after Harrenhal or when her husband left her here with his father for the love of another woman. She sees him standing above her good-father and those are the two words which fall from her lips. Whatever he expected, it was not this.

Jaime wondered that she did not seem angry now; or particularly upset that her good-father was dead at his feet. Looking at her he hopes that her lack of feeling on the matter is because she seems overly distracted. It does not escape his notice she stood at the doorway of the Throne Room but her gaze is primarily directed outside.

"What?" Distracted or not, there had to be more to what she said. He knows why he did what he did, but, he does not know why this does not seem to worry her.

She holds his gaze as she fully turns to look at him.

"My son is a sleep and far too young to notice, but, my daughter does not need to see that. Cover him with something, wrap him completely. This room has seen too much horror and blood as of late."

Jaime started. She is worried about blood on the floor, but, not what caused it. He was bewildered, but, he did was she asked all the same. Only once Aerys was wrapped securely did she move further into the room.

One more glance outward and she shut the door tightly, securing it behind her and her daughter. Though Elia directed the gaze of her young daughter away from Aerys, and that Jaime found that he moved to protect the girl from seeing the sight in front of her, it would not have mattered as the girl's eyes were almost closed due to the lateness of the hour.

Her face was hard as she turns towards him and as she motioned to the lax sword in his hands. "Am I to be next? My children?" Such directness from her is uncommon. Still, it is to be expected, even after so many years in King's Landing being Rhaegar's dutiful wife and Aerys's good-daughter it is easy to forget the woman in front of him was a Martell.

Jaime breathed deeply not knowing how to answer the question. That she does not look particularly fearful at the prospect of an affirmative answer, gives him pause. Knowing what they knew and seeing what they have seen these past few months, death was a reality for them both; one way or another. She knew what he had done and that makes her dangerous.

Still, killing the Mad King was one thing the woman in front of him and her children quite another. He broke his vows to protect his king, but, he was still a knight. The King had been no innocent. He broke one vow and even for good as it was, it pained him. There was no need to break more of them.

He did not speak, but, shook his head. He will dare much, but, not that.

She nodded, seemingly satisfied.

She moves towards a small chamber off to the side and bid her daughter to sit in one of the chairs sparsely littering the small room. He heard her speaking to Princess Rhaenys in her characteristic, soft and soothing tones. He had not moved; transfixed as he was with all of this. She stepped back into main chamber and walks towards him.

She looks about, considering. He wishes he knew what she was thinking of. Eventually he follows her gaze as it falls back to where Aerys lay.

"Do you think there is enough time?" Such an odd question for such an odd affair.

"Time for what, Princess?"

"Princess Regent."

"What?" He shakes his head; not understanding. He looks to her for answers, there is very little else for him to do. He already killed the King; now waiting is all there is and it seems she has thoughts of her own.

She smiles, though this is neither the soft smile he is accustomed to seeing on her face nor is it one filled with sadness or viciousness; it was a polite smile, the one she used at Court. More accurately, it was the one she used to use when there was something at Court to smile at. "Princess Regent, not just Princess. My son is too young to rule and my husband was never king even if he did die before his father, so it can not be Queen Regent. That is the way of things, is it not?" He stared at her.

"Not if Robert claims the throne for himself, if someone claims it for him, or someone else claims it for their own." Though he did not say it to be cruel, and while he thinks he would not rejoice if he was to see such a thing come to pass, no one knew the future and so he said it.

She smiled again, but, it was a smile of someone who tries to appear unaffected by what they heard, but, he thinks he sees the sadness in her face.

"No one can peacefully; not while my children and Viserys live and we are here. While I can not say I know Robert Baratheon well; he is not the type to kill a child himself or other men without good reason and Ned Stark and Jon Arryn seem far less so." Jaime's back stiffens slightly as she shrugs. That Robert Baratheon killed her husband goes unspoken.

He looks at her again, and smiles slightly. She was a clever thing, Elia of Dorne. And to think once he might have married her once. Perhaps if he had, this would not have happened. He shakes his head; the past is the past. It is the now that matters.

"And if he is; if they are?" He wants to know what she would do. He also wants to shake her of her calm. He can barely stand it when he feels the way he does. This was no time for anyone to be this composed.

Her lips twitch slightly; a gesture he had never seen her make. "That is why you are here are you not? To protect your King and his kin." She raises the baby in her hands. "You are sworn."

He laughs, because, otherwise he just might scream or cry; he knows not which would be worse. "I was." To stress the point, he motions towards where Aerys lays.

"One failing need not erase the rest of one's work." He raises an eyebrow. Aerys dead at his hands is more than a mere failing; but, she, too, knew what Aerys was. Aerys's failings were dangerous and many. He briefly wonders how she numbered her husband's failings. He shakes his head; Rhaegar is just as dead as Aerys and neither matter now. Still, he wants to believe what she says.

She smiles again; this one certain. "Neither I nor my children have committed their grandfather's or their father's wrongs and should not suffer for them; not when we have suffered for them in our own right".

He fights to keep the smile off of his face. He would have laughed in her face if the expression on hers was one of earnest hope. Blessedly, it was not.

This was a different Elia, but even before, she had been no fool that failed to see that men often suffer for the wrongs of others. Still, neither she nor her children were just anyone. He knows the truth in that. Robert Baratheon and the Starks have reason to hate Rhaegar and Jon Arryn has reason to hate Aerys, but, none of those three high lords have any reason to hate her or her children; let alone wish them dead. He wonders just how many Dornish spears would have happily joined with the Baratheon's forces if Aerys had not kept her here with him.

Robert Baratheon as hot blooded as he is would not harm a child himself and Ned Stark knew that if Rhaegar took his sister it was the expense of the woman in front of him. They who fight against Aerys would gain very little goodwill by killing her or her children with Rhaegar having perished in battle and Aerys dead. There was potential in that. Still, thinking of that will do him no good until those men arrive in King's Landing.

Her voice is clear; forceful even. "You are sworn, Ser Jaime, to protect the King and his family; not were sworn. Aerys was no king and he is dead. My son, his grandson, is not." He looks at her sharply; she knows how that came to be.

Evidently, that matters not to her as she continues, "I wish to see my children live and to do that my son needs to be the King. Aerys is gone and my husband dead before him. Even though these times are strange, my son should be king at my good-father and husband's deaths." He inhales a breath. Though her words are not sweet they are fundamentally correct. And for Jaime, they almost sound like absolution.

To give him time he remembers her question he left unanswered. "You were asking if there was time."

She blinks and he rejoices in that she can be shaken though she recovers quickly enough. Turning to look at Aerys turns dispassionately, she says, "Time enough for him to burn before someone comes".

He furrows his brow in alarm and confusion.

She looks at him questioningly. "Or would you rather be acknowledged as a kingslayer and an oathbreaker."

He flinches and she ignores it, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. She does not condemn him for his actions; yet, that does not give him any relief. She has her own problems and he has his. He killed Aerys, he would be damned by both sides at war and as confident as she is, in times of war, many things can happen.

"And fire would serve to release me from those ill gotten titles?" For killing Aerys he should be seen as a hero, but, seeing her now, as kind as she usually is, she had not cried to be spared nor for good-father or her husband, and he knows his thoughts of glory gained for his actions had been foolish. It serves them all to see Aerys dead and they both would do what needs to be done, but, they would be expected to mourn who should not be and no one would applaud them for it.

"Aerys was mad, but, he was right in that fire has its uses." The both of them remember the men burned in front of them. Jaime remembers the men who could have burned had he not acted.

His choice his made, he goes towards an alcove and retrieves a jar filled with oil few know about and then grabs the nearest torch he sees. He already killed Aerys, how much more damning can burning his body be?

It is silent as he as he drops oil on a few parts of the dead king's body and touches the head of the torch to the dead king's face he exposed, where he put his sword through the man, and the covering he wrapped Aerys in. Even with so little oil the fire spreads quickly. He drops the torch on what is left of Aerys but puts the bowl of oil near enough to where Aerys burns.

Neither spoke as the flames rose higher and higher and the color brighter, as the smoke curled in tall tendrils rising up into the rafters of the hall, and as the as the crackle of the fire grew louder and faster. Soon enough, he decides to bank the flames with own cloak.

Finally with one more look at Aerys's charred remains he takes his blackened cloak and drapes it over what was left of the body. Princess Elia, the Princess Regent, he thinks, was right. There had been too many deaths and he does not wish to be responsible for more than he has to.

He looks up to see that while he was busy she settled the Princess Rhaenys who is now asleep near them and she waits holding Aegon, standing next to the Iron Throne; but, inexplicably, not moving to sit in it. He wonders what she waits for. He would not stop her from sitting there.

He walks towards her. He raises his chin. "Princess Regent." They look at each other and understanding passes through them before she smiles at him, once more. This time it is soft. Still, her smile is gone quickly as she sits down carefully on the barbed and cold, metal throne with him standing at her side.

They do not have to wait for long before the door is burst through and he sees his father, his uncle Kevan, the Maester, Aerys's spymaster Varys, and a few Lannister bannermen. At the commotion the Princess Rhaenys awakes and Jaime goes to collect her before returning to Elia's side.

Jaime can not tell what that look on his father's face, but, he likes to imagine that his father had not been expecting this.

Seeing the covered shape on the floor, the Maester cries out, "What happened? Where is the King?"

His eyes' never leaving his father's, Jaime says without much inflection, "King Aerys is dead. Long live King Aegon." His father stares at him while one of his men lifted some of the ruined cloak from the body, but, the man flinched and replaced it quickly enough.

Jaime notices his father's eyes flicker to where Elia sits with her son in her lap and then to where her daughter sits in his son's arms and Jaime can not help shifting his feet to step closer to Elia.

"That is truly King Aerys?" Jaime wants to laugh. The first thing his father says to him in years and it is that. "That was."

"How did that come to pass?" The poor Maester seemed to be in shock. That it was because Aerys was dead or the manner in which he was found; Jaime did not know or truly care.

Jaime does not need to answer the Maester's inquiry because Elia points to that burnt out torch and that jar of oil he left out and her voice just hold enough of something inscrutable as she speaks. "The fire spread quickly. Ser Jaime was able put out the flames but His Grace succumbed to his injuries."

Jaime ducks his head and bites into his cheek to stop him from laughing; half in hysteria half in humor, at the half truth.

He takes a breath and looks up to notice Varys, Aerys's foreign spymaster peering at him so intently that he fights not to flinch as he tries to stare right back. The silence is broken when Aegon lets out a cry and Elia adjusts the babe's placement in her lap and tries to quiet the child.

The bald man looks at the child and speaks for the first time. "It is quite fortunate, Ser, that you were here to try and stop the blaze from spreading." The words were spoken mildly, and though Jaime could never tell with Varys if any offence was truly meant, he heard the accusation all the same. Apparently, so did his father, who turns sharply to the other man.

Jaime puts the girl down and would have gone down there to quiet the man but halts when Elia coughs bringing everyone's attention on her. "My dear Varys, who amongst us did not know His Grace was fond of fires, even if they are difficult to control by most? No one could have foreseen any of it." She looks down at her children before looking up to smile warmly at him, before turning back to Varys with a slightly different smile.

"Ser Jaime did his best, however he could. And as you say, though my good-father was lost; not everyone is, not everything is."

Elia turns to his father, "Lord Tywin, I know these past years have been…difficult, but, circumstances being as they are…" She looks down at Aerys once more; they all do, before she looks back up at Tywin, "It comforts me that you are here. I, and though my son is young I am certain when he grows to be King in his own right, he would appreciate your help now when Lord Baratheon and his men make their way to King's Landing. We have all lost too much, but, I think there is potential for peace and for the future."

Jaime motions for the child king and she freely gives Aegon to him, but, Jaime only has eyes for his father whose chin lifts slightly at the gesture of trust. Speaking to Varys and his father, he says, his voice filled with regret he partially feels, "I do not deny I failed my duty King Aerys, nor do I deny it was far too late to help him, though I wished that I could have, but, the Princess Regent" all the men turn sharply look at him, but, his tone carries a shrug, "does have the right of it."

Jaime waited with baited breath as his father stared at the tableau in front of him, but, in the end he answered with just a nod. Pycelle exhaled a relieved breath at his father's reaction. If it was any other time or any other circumstance Jaime would have laughed. His father turns to his uncle Kevan to issue orders to safeguard the city and soon enough his uncle and the few Lannister men leave to do as his father bid. With one more look towards the Iron Throne with Elia sitting in it and Jaime beside her, the spymaster and the Maester follow the Lannister men out, after receiving a request from her to send a raven to her brother, the Prince of Dorne.

Once the group of them is alone, father and son stare at one another for some time before his father turns to Elia. "It is fortunate that you and your children are safe." His tone betrays no feelings to the contrary, but, Jaime does not know if his father was sincere.

She smiles softly and gestures to Jaime to return her son to her, which he does. "Thank you, Lord Tywin. I know this situation is fraught with difficulties and complications, but, I do hope you know how much I, and my son, would value your aid and your council." That Aerys had failed to do so in the recent years goes unacknowledged, before she speaks again. "Though it is early to early to tell what Lords Baratheon, Arryn, and Stark would say, but, it is my hope that you accept being my son's Hand."

He stares at her but nods his acceptance. "Thank you. If it is found they have no objections I will gladly accept." With one more look at the woman in the Iron Throne, boy in her lap, and the young girl staring up at him he turns to his son and requests a few words in private. They leave her to her children and her throne.

* * *

Once alone, his father spent a moment or two looking at him before speaking to him in a low voice. "I expected they would be in Maegor's Holdfast."

Jaime shrugs, "As did I, but, it seemed fate had other plans. This whole night was filled with the unexpected." His father was an intelligent man, but, he is certain his father cannot guess quite what he means by that. Still, the tilt of his father's head shows that his father suspects what he heard was not quite the complete story, but, in circumstances such as this, there are some things that are better left alone.

"I can not say I am displeased Aerys did not live, but, how is it that they still live when he does not?"

He stares at his father. Stepping closer to his father, in his ear, he whispers, "With Aerys and his son dead, his grandson is his heir. She loves her children and would see them to safety and whatever I am, I am sworn." His father's expression grows ugly, so he hotly protests in a fierce whisper, "Aerys's love of fires is well known. Accidents happen. A person may excuse one, but, not even the dimmest could ignore four and there are limits to everything."

Seeing that his father was set to protest, he says, "Certainly you do not think that I would kill women and children who have done me no harm and given who they are, I am sworn to protect. I would be cursed in all Westeros. It would dishonor my name and that of our house."

If anything, his father would seek to protect the family name and implications of regicide would not be regarded well, no matter how richly deserved the act was, even in times of war. Killing of innocents for no reason would be even more burdensome to the family legacy.

"That the boy lives and we throw our support towards her means Robert Baratheon will not be king; that Cersei cannot be offered as his potential queen." His father intended to give Cersei away as a reward for winning battles?

Just thinking about Cersei being anyone else's torments him. "Certainly you jest, Father."

His father frowns at him. He argues a different point. "Father, this started because Robert Baratheon's betrothed was taken. What makes you think he would accept any woman other than Lyanna Stark to be his queen, even if she is damaged goods? Lord Stark would consider it a paltry investment in his friendship if his kin first died and then for his sister to be tossed aside."

His father seemed to consider that, "And their living means we must bend to the Targaryen yoke. Do you think any of those men would accept it?"

"I do not know Robert Baratheon, Ned Stark, or Jon Arryn, but, they have no cause to hate her and to kill or depose her living child when the only reason the Dornish took Aerys's part was because she and her children were kept here. I know Elia Martell. She is not Aerys Targaryen and the boy is a boy. Children can be taught and we would be here to guide the child and the widow. When peace can be brokered with someone amenable and whose claim is stronger than the others, to replace them with some unknown hothead like Robert Baratheon is foolishness, Father. Now that Aerys is dead, there no reason to not offer her aid."

His father snorted, "She needs our aid more than we need her."

"Yes, but, she trusts me and she would be grateful to us. Her husband's foolishness and Aerys's caused this whole mess; she knows better. Upholding Rhaegar's dishonored widow's claims for her fatherless son's due rights rather than supporting a usurper does more credit to our house; particularly when there is very little to be gained by doing the latter."

His father relents, "There is merit to that argument, but, Princess Regent?" Jaime smiles inwardly.

"Why not? Who better than to name Regent than the boy's mother and she can not call her self, Queen, now can she?" His father considers that.

"As you say, at least she does not seem to be a dullard." With one sharp look to his son, "There is nothing more to be done for now, though, if she is amenable as you say, it could do very little harm to see if she is amenable enough to release you of your conscription." With that he turned and left Jaime silent in the hallway.

* * *

After a minute he opens the door to the Throne Room and walks towards her.

"Does he suspect?" She sounds partly anxious and partly curious.

"Possibly, but, he left it alone." Even if his father knew for certain, his father would admit it to no one. She nodded and she breathes out slowly.

"He did not seem particularly happy to see us together." Alive, is not what she says.

"He expected that you would be in the Holdfast."

"Varys had the same thought." That explains why she came here and Varys's reaction to Aerys's death.

"I see."

"I hope that does not displease you."

"It does not." He means it. He does not want her or her children dead. There has already been too much death.

"But, will your father support my son?"

"He will." His father may not be happy about the prospect, but, for now, given that Aerys was gone and with nothing truly lost, his father could not truly lament his choice in this matter. Still, she did not know what they spoke about and she does not need to know. Not yet, at least.

"Is there anything he wants, other than being Hand, I mean?" She truly wants to know. Jaime is grateful she is aware of just how precarious the situation is.

"He wants you to release me of my vows as a member of the Kingsguard."

She is not shocked, very few would be remembering Lord Tywin's actions at Harrenhal, but, it would be unprecedented. "That has never been done before."

He laughs, but, the sound that comes out of his mouth is hollow. "A member of the Kingsguard had not failed to save his king as I have."

She looks at him sharply, "No one could save a man from himself." He wonders briefly at her vehemence, but, Jaime reflects that if anyone knows what it is like to stand and watch as men sink their own futures without a care at the potential expense to others, it would be her.

In a softer tone she manages, "Do you want that?" She sounds hesitant, as if she does not want him to want that, but, if his father truly demands it, she should know.

"No." She sits back in relief though she is mindful of the dangerous seat she sits in. "As you say, I am sworn." For now, they rest.


	2. Elia, Tywin, Jaime

Elia looked about her and the laughter almost bubbles up from her throat. Her life had been nothing but strange these past few years. Her good-father was dead and she is having breakfast with the man who killed him and his kin. She had no love for Aerys, but, he was her king and her good-father, even though he was mad and had not treated her gently. Her expression darkens remembering, but, she ducks her head. No need for anyone, much less, Tywin Lannister, to see her in moments of weakness. Looking to where her daughter quietly eats besides her and then to her son who is with the nurse, she knows she can not afford too many shows of it. Not now, when her children are young and Rhaegar is dead.

Rhaegar. Any proper lady can and should overcome her husband's infidelity if she has to. One hopes that their husbands remain faithful, if they also remain true to their vows, but, one understands that it happens; even if the thought is painful. She was of Dorne; taking paramours was something she was accustomed, even if only as an idea. She would not deny that she was hurt because of what Rhaegar had done, but, he had done more than simply taking a lover.

Aerys' disdain for her she was used to. The sneers about her poor health were more than just a few. After Harrenhal the feelings of shame she felt every time someone would look at her with pity tore at her. The idea that she, Elia of Dorne, was worthy of anyone's pity or disdain disgusts her; mostly because it was nothing she had done. She never gave him cause to complain and she gave him her years, her health, her body, and her love only for him to run away like a thief in the night with someone barely out of the first blush of womanhood, disregarding everything and everyone, including her family, without a thought about how it would affect his; as if she did not matter, that their children who she nearly died bringing in the world for him did not matter, that the life they did not matter.

She could forgive that he wanted something else, someone else, and even that he wanted something more, but, the dishonor, betrayal, and the disregard hurt. Not only Rhaegar showed favor to another at her expense so visibly, he compounded it by abandoning her and their children to the mercy of his father, who he himself had no love for; the same father who had no love for him or anyone else.

Now it falls to her to ensure their children's legacy; as if her being Aerys' good-daughter and grandson's mother or the High Septon's blessing their Aegon as king would matter when the wolves and stags come to call on her doorstep, demanding more blood and retribution for what they had done. That is something she finds hard to forgive; and now she must breakfast with the Lannisters.

Even with his most glaring failing known to her, even though it meant he would be damned in the eyes of the gods, and men if they came to know, he was a kingslayer; Elia knew Jaime Lannister was a true knight. She shudders thinking of the people Aerys sentenced to die; who she witnessed die. If she was here to see the death and destruction Aerys caused, so was Jaime Lannister. There are very few people who had not wished death upon Aerys Targaryen as he caused so much of it himself. That is why she helped him hide what the knight had done.

They lived through Aerys' thirst for death together; now they are sure to be damned together because they brought death to Aerys, but, she cannot find it in herself to feel badly for it. She would rather be damned if it meant her children would be alive and safe and Aerys' death was not that heavy a price to pay.

Jaime Lannister ridded the world of a monster. She appreciated the gift of his protection. It was because of him, that his father, Tywin Lannister, who had no love of her any more than he had loyalty to Aerys, offered her aid. Those gifts carried weight with her.

But, that will not matter if those lords still thinking they are at war with Aerys seek to continue it.

Lord Tywin apparently thought the same. "My Princess, we need to discuss further plans." She appreciates his directness.

She inclined her head. Too much damage had been done, and even with the forces of Tyrell and other houses which remained loyal to the Targaryen cause, she needs peace. Those who remained loyal may not for long. She needed peace if she meant her son to rule; the Targaryen legacy will follow her children wherever they could go and so her son had to rule. Still, if those who fought against the Targaryens still wanted war then war it would have to be.

"I think there has been too much war. I would have peace for my son, the King. I am grateful Lord Kevan consented to go in an effort to parley with Lord Baratheon."

The other man looked at her, "It is comforting to know that those of my house could be of assistance to you." The Warden of the West turns to look at his son who will not quite meet his eyes. "As to the prospect of peace we all would like the best for our children; what they are entitled to."

She holds up a recently arrived note. "My brother's forces are still some distance away. Only the Gods know who arrives here first, my brother, Prince Oberyn, or Lord Robert. What shall we do if peace can not be brokered? Who knows Robert Baratheon wants? Is he the type of man to be satisfied with my husband's death and that of King Aerys or would he want more?" She does not have that much more to give him; not if she wants safety for her children.

Ser Jaime now looks towards his father, but, Lord Tywin, for now, only had eyes for her.

Eventually, Lord Tywin, mouth in a straight, severe line, nodded. "I know not much of the man personally but King Aerys' is dead. There is no delicate way to say it, but, that may ease some of their ire."

"And suppose that does not? My children are still young. The Queen Dowager is on Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. I have to think about them as well." That was a very real worry. She doubted Queen Rhaella would mourn her husband, but, in her state and even Viserys is a child, if any members of the family fall into unsavory hands that will not bode well. Dragons are hard to kill but they can be.

"Mace Tyrell has Robert Baratheon's brothers. You have Lyanna Stark."

She does not flinch at the name. She notices Ser Jaime stiffens as well. Holding up the note a little bit higher, "I do not have her yet, Lord Tywin."

"If she is returned to them, it will quell most of it." He sounds so sure. She can not trust his confidence, no matter how wonderful it sounds, because she does not entirely trust him.

Elia shook her head. "And suppose Aerys' blood and the prospect of a dishonored girl is not enough for them?" It may soothe Ned Stark to have his sister and Robert Baratheon his betrothed back, but, the dishonor and the memories of the dead men who fought for them…

"This war has gone on long enough. Jon Arryn's quarrel is not with you or your children. Ned Stark will be happy to get his sister back alive." The man shares a brief look with his son before returning to her, "Baratheon will have his betrothed returned to him and he can do very little of Arryn and Stark are appeased. Robert Baratheon; that he defeated the one who took what was his. …" Lord Tywin looks at her and she tries not to react. He continues, "And that no more blood of his bannermen will be split is good enough to calm him." Those are the same arguments she has made, but, that does not give her much respite today. If there is one thing she knows, it is that even the best of men can fail at being honorable.

"And if it is not?" What will she do then? What can she do?

Tywin Lannister's eyes bore into hers. "Lyanna Stark is not the only thing coming with your brother. If the need arises you have your brother coming up from the South and you have my armies and that of the Tyrells to the West."

What he says sounds so pretty, but, that does not stop her from looking at him sharply. He came into the war late and because of it she can not trust him much. "If they reach before my brother arrives, with Mace Tyrell and his forces remaining at Storm's End; Lord Tywin, I have your assurance that you would lead the charge?"

She needs to know how far Lord Tywin will go, not that she has many options. Men in war follow those who they respect and deem capable of delivering victory. For many she is a woman but, it is worse because she is Rhaegar's sickly Dornish wife who he left for another, much younger woman. No one would respect her for taking up the mantle of warrior; she would only have their ridicule. She cannot afford that. She knows what she is capable of doing and what she is not capable of, but, even if she had the heartiest of health at all times, she had no option of playing at being Visenya Targaryen. She knows she can take up a sword if it comes to that, but, Viseyna had the benefit of her brother in battle and a dragon. She does not even know if those who were loyal to the Targaryen forces will remain so; not with Rhaegar dead.

She looks to Ser Jaime. Ideally she would have asked this of him, but, then she would have no one here she trusts. She should not trust him fully either, but, she trusts him more than she does his father, for what that is worth.

If her brother is not here in time she needs someone to lead an army and Lord Tywin, whatever he was, was capable of that.

* * *

Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, stares at the woman sitting in front of him.

He knows what he heard was a test of his loyalty. He is a proud man and under any other circumstances fury would not be enough to describe the idea of anyone deigning to test him in any capacity while simultaneously implying options other than his involvement would be more favorable if they had been available; but, in this instance he will accept her ambivalence towards him.

He was aware that Elia Martell of House Targaryen did not trust him completely; as a matter of fact he expected that she would not. She should trust him to a certain degree because he had committed himself to her cause, or more appropriately, her son's cause, and to go back on that now would do him no favors; not when his own men knew of initial choice; after all, it was his son who guards her and his brother who went to treat with Baratheon with his blessing. However, he had come to King's Landing with an interest which directly contradicted hers.

One does approve of frankness and pragmatism. Of course, there was truth to what she said. Her brother was some distance away and he was here. Only a fool could see that her 'request' was borne of nothing but necessity; it was not as though there were that many options available to her. He saw the look she directed at his son before her polite 'request'. Jaime was a fine swordsman, but, to be a commander in battle was a different matter.

He cannot help but look at his son as well. He remembers entering the Throne Room to see Aerys dead with her sitting on the Iron Throne with Jaime standing next to her; carrying her child. It had been quite a picture. That story they touted about Aerys burning himself was a fiction; a pretty and convenient fiction, but a fiction nonetheless. His son's carefully chosen words merely confirmed it. He wondered at his son's vehemence in aiding the woman. Though his son claimed to save the woman and the children because it was his sworn duty to do so and to retroactively safeguard his honor, and thus the family honor, when he failed to save Aerys, he does not believe that to be entirely true. Still he does appreciate the necessity which drove his son to make the argument.

He looks at Jaime again. Aside from his son's refusal to do as he wished and have that cloak removed from his shoulders, Jaime did have his moments of brilliance. Jaime had been essentially correct in that Robert Baratheon would have been a mistake. Men who fight for a woman do not put them aside for others. Cersei would not have enticed him, even if he showered the man in gold.

Siding with the rebels could potentially give him Robert Baratheon's good-will but there was no guarantee in that; not with the men surrounding the Stormlord; not when he waited for so long. He knew what this woman wanted, Robert Baratheon was an unknown and the unknown was unpredictable. Refusing Aerys aid was one thing, but, to put warrior with bloodlust on the throne with little hope of gaining from it was quite another. Jaime had been correct about that.

At any rate it seemed that his son gave this princess his word and the word of a Lannister can never fail to mean something.

He is not blind to his son's faults, but, his son is his son; even if his son's motivations are not completely visible to him. He looks between them once more. Ever since that night he cannot help but wonder at the relationship between the Martell woman and his son. The looks they share…they clearly shared something more than his son's misbegotten vows...Though he keeps his expression neutral, but, he can not help but wonder…but, now was not the time for those thoughts. Not when she would require an answer.

This request which she posed which was not exactly a request, he did not expect. Leading the army in her name, in her son's name, provided her brother's arrival mitigates the need, however, is quite a different matter. There is no doubt he could lead an army, but, is he certain he desires to? Had the circumstances been different the very thought of Tywin Lannister leading an army at the behest of Elia Martell of House Targaryen would be worthy of ridicule.

That she asks even now tells him she is no fool.

Then again, her mother had been no fool. It vexed him that the Ruling Princess of Dorne was able to arrange her daughter's marriage to the same prince he wanted for his daughter, but, he could not deny the woman had concocted a most clever response to his dismissal of her children; regardless of Prince Rhaegar's later foolishness. Of course, the bulk of his fury was more reserved for Aerys than it was the former Ruling Princess though in the end it tastes sweet, if such a thing can be described as sweet, that the daughter of the Ruling Princess is in need of his assistance because of Rhaegar's and Aerys' madness.

Aerys. It was no secret why Aerys would chose Elia of Dorne to be his son's wife passing over his daughter; her bloodline and as a "lesson" for him. It infuriated him but had he not spent twenty years as Aerys' Hand to be unfamiliar with the man's pride, ego, or most of his tactics?

Now looking at this woman he remembers being unable to surmise what Rhaegar Targaryen's had been thinking when he chose to go to war over someone else's woman. There were whispers a plenty about love and while he understands what it was to be in love, but, to be reckless was a weakness which worked against her husband and works in his widow's favor.

At Harrenhal Aerys taking his son from him clouded everything to where no one else's indignity at the hand of Aerys and his son registered, but, he knew how this woman had not made a farce of herself because of what was done to her. He can respect that. That his son spoke in her favor makes his choices much easier. That she trusts her family above all others is another point in her favor. That she does not flinch at her husband's death or mention of her husband's other woman is a third. That Aerys was a burnt husk at her feet and she did not shed a tear was a fourth.

In the end, Aerys is dead. As he told her, that truth can satisfy even the most exacting of men.

With Aerys dead and his son's widow in need of aid there is more than enough to gain. At any rate it would not do to give Mace Tyrell any more leverage should he come to call when it came to the spoils of war, when the Lord of the Reach inevitably made his move to do so. At least with this woman there was a surety in his involvement in the government of her son.

Having made his decision, he looked at her and she looked back. He was only partially surprised when face told him she already knew his answer. Still, he voices his response.

* * *

The way his father and she carry on without his involvement Jaime is certain his input is not needed; then again, he did not want to intervene. And so he was content in looking at them, towards where the young king is sleeping, and then back again; merely looking and listening for any sort of disturbance or danger both from the table and aside from it.

He wore the white cloak willingly, it is not his to engage in business of ruling; his charge was to protect the king. He wants to laugh a little; Aerys had been his charge as well, but, as the Princess Regent says one failure need not lead to another one. Still, he failed the once; no need to fail again, if he could help it. None the less, cloak or no cloak, he pays close attention to the verbal dance his father and the Princess Regent are engaging in. He owes it to his father and his princess. This was his doing and so he must see it through.

His silence also does not mean that Jaime fails to feel the tension at the table which has been present all throughout the morning, despite the polite tones the both individuals are using and civility they are displaying. Of course, when the talks at the table deal with the realities of the potential of war, tension was to be expected from all parties.

Of course, he would have never imagined he would be sitting at breakfast with his father discussing the possibilities of war with Princess Elia Martell with little Princess Rhaenys sitting at the table. But then, until recently he could have never imagined one day that Elia Martell would have given him an idea to cover up a murder of her good-father and the act of treasonous kingslaying or that his father would have willingly sided with a Martell for any purpose, either. But then, he also knows that the only reason why both his father and his princess are sitting at the table together has to do with him; their trust in him. It seemed that the Gods had a taste for comedy.

Regardless of his amusement at this turn of events, it was heartening to see the princess' euphoria of surviving that night faded and her confidence tempered. It shows him her seriousness; she is presenting counter-arguments for every argument his father makes. Of course, it does not escape his notice that every argument for the possibility of peace between them and Lord Baratheon his father presents is one that she herself presented to him on that night when he killed Aerys.

Still, it pleases him; to see that she takes this seriously. Judging by the expression on his father's face this, not necessarily pleases, but, satisfies him that the self-styled Princess Regent knows the precariousness of the situation.

He chances another look at her. How is it that they spent years in one another's presence and this aspect of her is almost unknown to him? Then again, if she had not chanced upon him after killing Aerys he might have never learned about the darker aspect to her character. It is only fair; she learned of what would be considered the darker aspect to his character as well and now here they were. Still, he wishes to protect her. Whether it is because she was innocent in this war or because she knows his secret he really does not know.

Perhaps it is because he feels badly for her. It is easy to do. He thinks of Cersei for a moment; not as a lover but as a sister. He remembers Cersei wanting Rhaegar; wanting a prince. Cersei was worthy of a Prince, but, the prince she wanted took a princess of his own. And then the Prince took someone else and died for it; leaving his widow and children behind, in his hands. It is such an odd tale and the oddities continue.

He reflects that it is odd to see a woman, particularly this one, make preparations for battle in any capacity because how he knew she hoped for peace. Of course, though she does not speak of it to him, he is fairly certain she is the person who is most tired of this war. How could she not be when this war started because her husband absconded with another woman and men of her homeland, including her own uncle, died because of it?

No, she did not want to continue to fight this war if it meant continued danger to herself or her children. Only a fool would think she would prefer war to peace. Most people would prefer the same.

But, the consequences for her are more severe. He is aware that if she does go to war and wins, she would gain nothing besides which should already be hers by right; the right of her son to call himself king and her to be called her son's Regent, as would happen if her son's sire and grandsire died naturally. If she loses it could mean she may have to forfeit the life of her children and perhaps her own in the process.

Not in his most wild of imaginings did he think something as odd as his father and Elia Martell discussing possible peace and war plans could occur.

Still, it was quite good that she willingly engages in the planning stages if peace could not be reached. He knew she wants peace, but, it does not surprise him that she wants plans for war set as well. It was not expected of women to have a thirst for battle; even the women of Dorne as she was, but, she was a woman with limited options and limited and borrowed numbers of soldiers until her brother's forces came.

It also tells him that she is prepared. Then again, she is sitting at the table with his father; she ought to be prepared. For most it would be severely disarming to have Tywin Lannister's attention focused solely at them and his father had been watching her most intently. His father had been watching the both of them intently. He had not told his father the truth of Aerys' death, but, he was quite certain his father knew they kept something from him.

Though his father had not been displeased at Aerys' death Jaime's actions with respect Elia and the children had caused his father to alter his plans significantly. That his father accepted it is a weight Jaime was not required to carry. Given what the former king was like killing Aerys was not particular burdensome to his conscience, but, had circumstances been different, he would have had to choose between loyalty to his family and the lives of innocents. The weight of that choice, he is glad and relieved, he does not care to carry.

Yet, his father may be willing to heed his counsel, but, Tywin Lannister is the former Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock first and foremost; and Lord Tywin is a most exacting sort of man. His paternal feelings will only stay his hand for so long. That is something which awes Jaime, but, it also is a source of much frustration; and Elia Martell does not have the benefit of being able to demand anything paternal from his father.

Still, for all that he and his father had not spent too much time together in the recent years Jaime recognizes his father remains loyal to this princess because he sees benefit in it or more accurately his father sees more benefit in siding with her than he does see in his previous plans. If he had not, he would not have, even temporarily, allowed his to call his soldiers hers or Uncle Kevan to treat with Robert Baratheon on her behalf. His father's actions also tell him that while he may not like Princess Elia or the current circumstances all that much her presence provides, but, he does not dislike her either. It helps that she at least seems grateful to his father.

It is also to her credit her actions are controlled even when his father pokes at her potential weaknesses. The strategic mentions of Aerys, her husband, and Lyanna Stark were not only to highlight facts. The way his father mentions those topics, in particular, shows Jaime that his father is testing her; now that, Jaime is familiar with. Still, he supposes the subjects of her husband and Lyanna Stark have been on her mind for so long, since Harrenhal, that she has acclimated herself to not reacting publicly to the incidents related to them. As for Aerys, she would not cry over him and it had not been her that killed him. As such there would be very little to react to.

Oh, but, it seems that even though she is not a lioness, Elia has claws of her own. Still, the amusement he feels wars with shock and he freezes. Very few would dare to question what Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock will do for them when he had already deigned to give them his favor; even if on an obviously provisional basis. Very few dare to question his father at all and live and here she was 'requesting' that he take command of her forces if the need arises.

He chances a look at his father. Though his father had not seemed angry Jaime could not fathom how his father could possibly take this affront to his show of loyalty. Then again, Jaime recognizes that from her it was not strictly an insult. She requests his involvement as a contingency plan and that was not surprising; she does have valid concerns. Prince Oberyn and his army were still at some thing of a distance from King's Landing and Lords Baratheon, Stark, and Arryn were to be here soon enough.

To be sure, it was a reasonable request. She would need someone to command the forces at her disposal and it was not as though she could rely on her husband or good-father and her brother was still unavailable to her. Though Jaime knew she would dare much, but, taking her own place in the vanguard and leaving her children was not something she would do willingly. Not only would no one expect that of her, it would not be welcome; a battlefield was no place for a high-born lady and mother. And why would she even bother when she had a seasoned battle commander in the form of Lord Tywin Lannister at her side.

"I will". Jaime cannot help but release a long-held breath at his father's response.

He looks between his father and her once again. For a brief moment he wondered why she had not considered asking this of him. It came to him that she wanted him with her and her children. She trusted him; the man who killed her children's grandfather in front of her. He almost laughed at that. His killing Aerys provided a most unusual of circumstances, indeed.


	3. Jaime, Jon Arryn, Oberyn

The Tower of the Hand was quiet as Jaime sat outside his father's Solar with the boy king sleeping in his arms while Princess Rhaenys played with her cat at his feet. When the little princess turned to smile at him he could not help but respond with one of his own. This was far more preferable than sitting through Aerys' frequently occurring paranoia filled rants or the burnings. There was no glory in watching children, but, there was no horror in it; and he could find no complaint with that.

His father and Princess Elia were inside the Solar; talking to one another; just outside his hearing. He would have never thought possible and yet it was something he had quickly grown accustomed to. He, along side others at the Keep, routinely saw them speaking together, pouring over books, and it was said, making plans. Jaime did not know if today they were making plans for peace, for war, plans for what came after, and then planning contingencies upon contingencies; but, he knew his father well enough and knew the Princess just enough. He also knew better than to ask. They would tell him when they deemed it suitable. As it was, secrets in King's Landing were not as such for very long.

Jaime could almost taste how curious Varys and Pycelle were as to what those plans are as well. When they asked about it they were told that these meetings were simply a function of "governing" and that "they were simply doing their duty", but, neither would say too much more. It was strange to refuse to take into account the remaining members of the council, but, he understood the need for secrecy. He also understood the desire not to trust anyone else, much less those men who had professed loyalty to Aerys. Of course, his father had never trusted many and as for the Princess Regent, it seemed as though she was quickly learning the benefit of doing the same.

Unlike the others he did not mind not knowing, for now. After all, it was not for him to meddle in the affairs of state and he did not desire the task. Not only did he not have the taste for it, he wore the cloak which meant he should not try to do that.

He wishes to laugh aloud at that but he refrains from doing it. The children would be disturbed as would his father and the Princess Elia. It was laughable given what he had done, but, no one would find anything humorous in his humor; he certainly did not.

Aerys' actions forced him to act. He had not wanted to break his vows anymore than he wanted to kill a man who put his faith in him; to kill the man who knew there was an enemy at every corner. He does not feel guilty about it, but, he did not celebrate what he had done, either; and not only because of how it would be viewed.

He glanced back inside the Solar. He did not speak of truth of Aerys' death for himself alone. They all needed Aerys dead, even if no one wished to say it. He was quite sure his father and the princess were more than simply relieved because of it. Aerys had certainly done enough for many to wish him dead many of times over. That does not mean he fails to remember that he had been the one to send a sword through the body of the king and that if anyone bears a share of the responsibility with respect to what came after and what will come after; even if he does not know yet what will, it is him.

Soon when the others arrive, everyone will know what they had been planning. Only he is certain planning is not all they do. He likes to think he knows them better than that. Like others at the Keep they are distracting themselves in the guise of "planning and preparing". They were doing the same as him as he was doing now. He was never a man who rejoiced at the prospect of sitting and waiting; but, for now that is what was required of him. As the Princess was kind enough to tell him on that night one failing with regards to his duty is acceptable; not another one.

Jaime's face became hard as he reflexively drew the child closer to him. He was sure not only had his father and his princess been preparing, they were distracting one another from their waiting; waiting from word from his uncle Kevan. His uncle was with a sizeable garrison north of King's Landing to meet with Robert and the two lords on the young King's behalf.

If no peace could be brokered at least he and the men gone with him would delay them until Prince Oberyn and more reinforcements from the Westerlands arrived. So far, no word has been reached yet of their meeting up with the others; there was no indication of the manifestation of either outcome.

His uncle had not been gone for very long, but, Jaime did not like it. Jaime was never one for waiting, but there was too much riding on this. Though they did not speak of it much, neither his father nor the princess liked this waiting period either.

He looked back through the door. If he was honest the more he saw the sight in front of the more comfortable he became, but that doe not mean in his wildest imaginings could have forced him to envision his father and a woman, not of their family, sitting and talking willingly with one another outside of required social gatherings. He smiles a bit wryly. He doubts his father ever imagined such a thing, either; much less for the purpose of royal business or teaching.

He remembers during his youth his father would sit with him, teaching him about the trappings of being a lord in his own right; for all the good that it had done.

Even if her hair had been like theirs Jaime could not have imagined the sight of his father sitting with a woman discussing policy and future plans, much less for hours; but he cannot deny it is what he was seeing. He remembers also how Cersei used to be resentful that their father used to sit with him and not her. He can recall there were some moments, but, not to this extent. Like most fathers among men of their rank their father relegated Cersei's education to that which was taught by their mother and Septas; much to Cersei's chagrin. Only in their particular circumstance, while there were Septas, when their mother passed, there were aunts and other ladies of the household.

There was no mother here save the woman herself and no Septas either. There was no paternal bond between his father and the princess and nor would there be; but there needn't be. Theirs was a relationship born of necessity and competence. His father would not back an incompetent Regent and where was no one better to learn from than Lord Tywin.

Though Father and Elia could not be considered friendly they were increasingly more civil with one another and civility was required while ruling not emotions. Perhaps this was made possible because it was required of them and both were firm believers of duty, particularly when it came to family. It boded well for their alliance. There was no reason for him to complain.

He felt a weight settle next to him.

He smiled, "My Princess, are we done playing?"

"Yes." The child's expression was far too serious. Play, it seems, is not for many in the Keep for very long; even the young.

His smile became more pronounced as she slumped into his side, one small hand came to clutch a corner of the cloak he wore. When it seemed as though she had not thought of letting go he looked around briefly. Though there was nothing in his father's Solar appropriate for the attention of a child, he knew it would take more than a scrap of cloth to keep the child occupied.

"Would you like me to read to you?" The way she was pasted at his side would make it all but impossible for him to put the infant king down without jostling her, much less get up to search for a book, but, if it meant not disturbing what he ought not to, he would do it readily.

"No. I am tired; I am fine here." With that her eyes started to droop and she snuggled more firmly into his side.

He huffed out a laugh. She was most definitely her mother's child. Not only did she favor her mother in looks, it seemed they both presumed much about the best way he could be put to use, without much of his input. If she had been slightly older he would have had to wonder if her directness was something she inherited from her mother as well. Still, he found, he did not mind much.

Looking down at the child in his hands and the child next to him he could only just forget that this was but the time between the end of one war and the potential start of another one. He was thankful that at least some among them were able to be at peace without being haunted by their own actions and were not encumbered by the thoughts which plagued their own minds; that someone did not breathe, eat, and sleep worrying about the possibilities and practicalities of war.

The sounds of shuffling and the sound of a door closing caused him to look up again.

The dark haired woman had a fond look on her face. "Ser Jaime, thank you for keeping watch over my children. I thought we would be done well before now." Her tone is apologetic and he could detect a faint hint of tiredness, but, nothing about her reveals much of why this particular meeting of theirs took longer than expected. In the same tone she continued, "I will take them to my chambers now." When she moved to wake her daughter, he shook his head, and instead handed her son to her. It was better than having to call for someone else to do it, and it was his duty to keep them safe.

"I will accompany you. I will carry the Princess, unless my father has need of me." She smiled faintly.

"No, I believe he said something about writing to your uncle, Lord Tygett."

He nodded and picked up the younger princess and the left the Tower of the Hand together, stopping only for her to request from a passing maid to have food taken up his father and that he was not to be disturbed afterward.

Though they continued to walk Jaime asked at her curiously. "Did my father wish to eat?"

She smiled at him blandly, "He said nothing, but, I would be a poor lady to this house or any other if it was beyond my abilities to make food available when he does wish to eat."

Despite the courtesy, the dubiousness must have showed in his expression. "I see; and you would take it upon yourself to see him fed?"

She sends a sidelong glance his way. "I would see that he has no cause for dissatisfaction and that his hunger does not cause unnecessary distractions."

A grin manifests on his face. Now he knows time spent with his father has been serving her well if she would freely speak like this. He does not know whether she was just referring to his father's lack of interest in the mundane when he is occupied with important matters or that his father's continued support should not taken for granted. He is certain it is a combination of both. It is wise of her, he thinks, no matter how much she would give the other lords to keep them at bay, she recognizes it is his father's continued support she truly needs.

The grin on his face slips right off when he considers her words again. She could just as easily be referring to her husband's actions prior to the war or those other lords who were 'dissatisfied' with Aerys' actions.

No matter caused her to act the way she does, her reasoning was sound, all the same. It is a vital lesson, for anyone, especially those in power, to recognize that others, even those who would call themselves supporters, will require things of them and that one can fail to meet those requirements only for so long. It was a lesson Aerys forgot.

"Do you think it will be much longer?" He turned to look at her. Her question startled him. Still, he did not play the fool and ask her what she meant. He doubted she would appreciate it. Still, when there was Tywin Lannister's opinion to be had no once concerned themselves with that of others.

"No, I do not."

She nodded solemnly. "Our guests' rooms have been prepared."

'Our Guests?' He could not fight the upward twitch of his lips. It is incongruous; how he sees her. He always knew her to be a dutiful wife and mother, but, he also knows her to be ruthless in her own way. The Elia he is with today is the polite hostess as one would expect Rhaegar's wife to be. In fact, he had such words from her before, but, it was odd it to hear such words directed at him. Still, it did not make the nature of the words any less unusual.

In the end, he decides not to fight her on this. Words are words. She can call those other lords whatever she desires; it will not change who they are or what they will do when they arrive. What he says is, "Is that right?"

She nods; so sure. Plans indeed. They do not even know if those who would come as guests or otherwise and she has had rooms prepared. He cannot keep the humor off of his face.

There is a crooked smile on her face, but, there was also some sadness and awareness there. "That is correct. They will need to stay somewhere. Best not to insult them."

His ordinarily inappropriate grin becomes wider, "That is wise."

Her 'guests' are already insulted. Given what happened and his uncle had to negotiate with, they could hardly be insulted more.

"Are all these guests' rooms in close proximity?"

She laughs, "Gods no. Can you imagine? Lord Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark's are together at the farthest guest quarters from the royal apartments. I would have their persons and chambers well secured. I hope you would see to that." He nodded and they shared a smile. There was no need to tempt fate. "My brother is to have the same one's he used his last sojourn here…" Again that was not unexpected.

He could not help but ask, "And Lady Stark?"

Her expression became closed off, but, her footsteps do not waver as she walks forward, pointing to a closed room, "Lady Stark is to have this one when she arrives. I would see that one also appropriately guarded." Her chin was raised; daring him to question her choices. The tilt of his head shows her that he does not.

They said no more until they deposited the children in her bedroom.

"When our guests do arrive I would have you stand with me."

He narrows his eyes, "But not with the King?"

"My children will be elsewhere."

He raises an eyebrow, "Neither you nor the Hand expect it will be safe." A blatant lack of trust should not be a heartening thought, but, it is.

She bows her head slightly, "Though it is unkind of me to say, I do not trust those guests."

He is not surprised at her admission. "You would call them 'guests' regardless?"

She shrugs. "It would be disingenuous to call them as enemies if they prove not to be, though I cannot call them friends. I know not much of them and so I cannot call them acquaintances. I must call them something." A polite hostess, indeed.

He nods in agreement, "Very well, I will join you." One does not outright refuse the lady of the household without cause and he has none. He shares some of the same fears she does.

"I did not doubt you would." He almost laughs as his earlier thoughts about her come back to him.

* * *

Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie rode with Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell. They had been making their way to King's Landing from the Trident and would have arrived there if not for the delays. Even with the defeat of Rhaegar and his forces there were complications. It was difficult enough to move whole armies even if the bulk of their men were left in Riverrun to rest. Of course that was difficult even when the weather would permitted it much and then the Red Fork had overflowed. It was said even Saltpans was flooded. There were also plans which to be made and their future plans required the utmost care before they could go to King's Landing.

Though Robert's fury at the Targaryens had not abated much even with the defeat of his enemy, Jon and Ned counseled patience. After all, Rhaegar, whether he was alive or dead would not matter when it was Aerys who was still king; the same king who was responsible for the death their kin and their men.

But, they would have to get to King's Landing before Aerys could be dealt with. It was worse because between them and King's Landing stood both the Westerlands and the Reach and the Tyrell host still held siege at Storm's End where Robert's brothers were. Nor did they know where Lyanna was kept.

As of now they were still well north of King's Landing though they at present had made it south of Maidenpool, but, just north of Rosby. Only it seemed that they were not the only ones who were present.

When they came near enough, banners became visible to them. When they saw who it was they stood at a standstill. The banners and the troops behind them filled them with great unease.

Jon did not like the sight in front of him. The banners of House Caswell of Bitterbridge were no surprise as they were a house of the Reach; and the Reach had supported the Targaryens. It was the other banners which worried him. More specifically, it was the red banners of signifying forces belonging to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock; those of the Lannisters of Lannisport; the purple, white, and gold coins of the house of Payne; and the burning tree of Marbrand of Ashemark, which were cause for concern. The Westerlands stayed out of the fight; so why were they here, to that degree, and with a house of the Reach at that?

As they rode swiftly forward, it dawned on him that their party was expected. This was not an over large force in their way, but, it was enough to where Jon knew that they had to tread carefully, with what their intentions were.

When they came close enough they were greeted with the sight of the brother of the Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Kevan Lannister.

Kevan Lannister spoke first. "Lord Baratheon, Lord Arryn, and Lord Stark; welcome, we have been waiting for you." Jon stared at him. The man spoke as he was hosting them for dinner. Jon thought furiously about the reasons for Lannister involvement in this.

Robert curled his lip, "Have you been waiting? For what? Let us pass."

Lord Kevan simply raised his chin, "I am afraid before I can allow you to go forward we have quite a bit to discuss."

Jon frowned, "Lord Kevan, we have business in King's Landing." What would Lord Kevan have to speak to them about that he would have waited here for them?

At this the Lannister lord smirked, "I have just come from there. I assure my lords what I have to say will be important to you."

Robert sneered at the man, "What is there to discuss? I mean to go to King's Landing. I have another dragon to slay." Jon Arryn put a hand on the Stormlord's arm to curb him. They did not need to antagonize the Lannisters.

If Kevan Lannister had been the type he would have sneered back, though Jon could see there was also something strange in his expression, "I certainly cannot let you pass if that is your intent. There will be no fighting here. No harm will come to you unless you attack us first. But, you will listen to what I say. Please my lords I am sure you have ridden for very long. I am sure your horses could use the rest."

Taking a glance at the forces behind Lord Kevan, Jon motioned to both Ned and Robert and they climbed off their horses and followed the man to a guarded tent. If it cleared up the matter so that they could be on their way, Jon would listen. He had fought enough for now and had no desire to fight a Lannister just yet. At any rate, he was curious. Ever since they had arrived he had been trying to guess what Lord Kevan wanted to speak about.

Though Ned refrained from talking, Robert hearing this, spoke again, angrily, "Now what's this about Lannister? None of this has to do with you. Go crawl back to the rock you crawled out under. I have no desire to hear anything of what you have to say when you hid in your keep throughout the war. Or has your brother changed his mind and decided to start kissing the dragon-filths boots again."

Instead of taking offence it seemed as though Lord Kevan fought to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Jon wondered at that. When he spoke his tone was level but there was something condescending about it; as far as Jon could hear the tone was similar to that of his older brother's, "Not that it matters overmuch, but, the King is not one for wearing boots; much less for my brother to have developed a habit of kissing them. And the Princess Regent is more sun than dragon and does not abide much filth."

They stared at each other in confusion. None of what the man said made any sense; _boots, suns, and Princess Regent_? Jon found his voice first, "I am afraid I do not understand your meaning." Robert, for his part, spit out, "Quit speaking in riddles Lannister!" Ned spoke for the first time, "Speak plainly my lord. We have tarried here long enough." And there is much to do Jon thought, but, did not voice it.

Had he been any other man the movement of Lord Kevan's lips could have been classified as a smirk. The man nodded to Ned. "Indeed, Lord Stark. As I have been trying to say…" with a look towards Robert he stopped speaking before turning back to him, "The King would press for peace."

Robert laughed in his face, "I do not want peace with Aerys any more than I wanted it from his son."

If his expression had not been mirroring what Jon recalled as his elder brother's expression he would have thought Lord Kevan was would have laughed in the face of Robert's response. Instead he simply said, "I am afraid the chance for peace with King Aerys is impossible." Before Jon could interrupt Kevan Lannister raised his hand to stop him from speaking.

"My lords, I mean to say that there is no reason to not agree to peace when it is not King Aerys to who I am referring." Jon stood straighter; confused and alarmed. How could Aerys not be king? Could have Lord Tywin taken the throne? His eyes widened when Lord Kevan spoke again, "I refer to King Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name; the rightful king of Westeros. Or rather, I speak with you at the behest of his Regent, who, due to his age, as per our customs, is his mother, Princess Elia Martell of House Targaryen."

Jon looked reflexively to Robert and Ned at the Lannister lord's pronouncement. They had made their way to King's Landing intending to displace Aerys as king, but, how was it possible that he had been displaced by Rhaegar's widow?

Robert found his voice first; to scoff. "Do not take us for fools. The Dornish wench has neither the means nor the ability to overthrow anyone. What truly happened to that dragon slime?"

Lord Kevan sent Robert a look, which was the type of look one who is steadily losing their patience. "In my experience Princess Elia has shown no comportment other than that of a lady." Jon followed Lord Kevan's eyes as they briefly look towards Ned who looked away. Jon almost sighed. In remembering the events which brought them to this point, Jon almost misses it when Lord Kevan says, "King Aerys is dead."

Jon, in shock, looked at Ned and Robert who also looked at one another. Aerys was dead?

"How?" The sharply voiced question came from behind them, from Ser Barristan Selmy.

They all turned to see the knight in the entryway of the tent.

"Ser Barristan Selmy! My nephew and the Princess Regent will be happy to see you in good health."

At their face, Lord Kevan's words were innocuous, but, there was censure in it. This knight had been sworn to protect the King and his family and yet was discovered in the company of the men who rebelled against the king and by extension, the king's family and his own brotherhood. Ser Barristan looked down; a flush had appeared on his face. Ser Barristan nodded, but, could not quite meet Lord Kevan eyes.

Lord Kevan said no more to the knight, but, turned his attention back to them.

"King Aerys was burned to death."

Robert laughed. "Burned?"

Lord Kevan shrugged. "As the Princess Regent says, the former king had been quite fond of his own fires. He was burned quite badly enough to succumb to it."

Jon caught the way Lord Kevan spoke. If this Lannister unabashedly parroted Rhaegar's widow's words, then Lord Tywin Lannister does not dislike the circumstances even though he had clearly disliked Aerys.

Robert, lip curling in disgust, spoke, "So the dragon slime died and now you serve an infant?"

Lord Kevan's voice had a bit of an edge to it when he replied, "By right and by custom with his father having predeceased the king, King Aerys' natural heir is his only grandson, but, his lady-mother, the Princess Elia, would govern for him until his majority." Jon thought under any other circumstances this would have been wholly acceptable, yet these were not unusual circumstances.

As if he had not said anything problematic, Lord Kevan simply continued, "The Princess Regent is of the belief that this war has gone on too long and if I may count on your discretion…" With one more look towards Ned and then towards Robert, Lord Kevan speaks once more plainly, "If there was anyone who wishes none of this occurred, much less this war, it is her."

Jon stared at Ned and Robert while considered the implications of what was said. He tried to think of what he knew about the woman who is now Rhaegar's widow. Jon swallows thickly. The last time he even saw her was at Harrenhal; but then, his concern had been for Robert not Rhaegar's wife.

Lord Kevan, as though he was betraying impatience again, spoke, "My lords, I know you have much to think of but think on an end to the war. She is more than willing to treat with you in King's Landing but she does require acts of good faith on your parts." Jon frowned. It was such a polite way of saying that the woman wants something from them. They had no quarrel with Elia Martell exactly, but, Robert had been the one to kill her husband; who knows how she would react to that when Robert would stand before her.

Jon spoke, "What does she want?"

"That you will cease all fighting and acknowledge and accept her son as King." Naturally. Lord Kevan continued, "Ravens have been sent out about Aerys' death and the news of the High Septon's blessing of King Aegon; as was the news of my lord brother's acceptance of the office of the Hand of the King. Soon enough even the Night's Watch will know of these new circumstances."

Jon closed his eyes. 'Seven Hells', he thought. By the rights and customs of inheritance the boy is the legitimate heir. Rhaegar was well loved by many despite his actions. With him dead, any affection remaining would shift to his bereaved widow and young children. And how convenient was it that Lord Tywin had made his move. He had not supported Aerys for some time, but, now he threw his lot in with the grandson publicly. That would mean something to the small-folk and nobility alike. If the boy's rule was accepted by the Septons, others would follow. Then it would be difficult to convince others that Robert should be king.

Robert growled out, "And if we do not?"

With a tilt of the head, Lord Kevan replies easily as if he was remarking on the weather, "She does not want to continue this war, but, if it comes to that, she will." Jon stared. They fought already, but, to fight another war with an enemy which was not really their enemy?

Robert snorted; angrily and in disdain, "Why? How? And with what?"

Had this been another man Lord Kevan could have been said to be grimacing. "King Aegon, her son, is the rightful king of Westeros." With anyone other than a Lannister the pause he takes would have been called 'dramatic'. "Her brother also marches North with an army."

Jon did not like the sound of that. Judging by the frown on Ned's face he thought very much the same. Still, Robert laughed, "So what? The Dornish sent an army with Rhaegar. That did him little good." The look on Robert's face was twisted in triumph, but, Lord Kevan merely looked bored.

"Prince Doran had no love for Aerys and very little for Prince Rhaegar's insults." He stopped, yet, again, to look at Ned before he turned his head back to Robert. He replies flatly, "Aerys had thei sister and her children. Aerys is no longer of consequence. The Dornish princes would do their duty for a sister and her children as anyone would." Another look this time with a raised eyebrow was sent Ned's way before he continued, "I do not doubt the number of those men who fought with Rhaegar will be insignificant in comparison to the ones marching forward with Prince Oberyn."

Robert and Ned remained silent, but Jon thought furiously. This was worse and worse.

Ned spoke for the first time; his tone grim, "What if we do not acknowledge the boy as king or cease fighting."

Lord Kevan stared at them. He was frowning, but, his eyes were hard. "Then there would be more fighting when there needn't be. She would have a peaceful realm for her son, with your support and blessing; however, if you would continue to fight her on this not only will the war resume anew, but, you not see your sister again." Turning to Robert, "And you will not see your brothers."

"She has Lyanna?" Robert looked furious and it was all Jon could do to control him. Ned's face crumbled at the mention of his sister. "Is she safe?"

Lord Kevan's lips twisted into something not quite a smirk, "Lady Stark is as safe as one can be when with certain members of the Kingsguard and the army of Oberyn Martell."

Jon stood frozen for a moment; even Robert was stunned to silence while Ned looked as though he would start to grieve again. Still, it seemed as though Lord Kevan was not quite done, "The Princess Regent is most insistent upon showing that she wishes for the end of the enmity which was caused by others and would seek to have your support moving forward; provided she is ensured the same consideration." As if to stress the point Lord Kevan continues, "We would have things settled; preferably amicably."

Now Jon understood perfectly. They were not the only ones who made plans and these others had the means to achieve them. "Lord Kevan, thank you for speaking to us. We will think on this carefully."

Lord Kevan simply nodded, seemingly satisfied; but Jon was not fooled. This Lannister did not trust them anymore than his brother would. "I hope I would have your answer quickly. The Princess and the Hand are of the mind that this has gone on for long enough." With that the Lannister lord turned and left them to their thoughts.

* * *

Oberyn Martell, mouth set in a grim line, looked to the darkened sky above and the road ahead, considering. Darkness or no, he was eager to press forward. His sister and her children needed him to press forward with the men he had with him; but, there was nothing for it. Though the thought disgusted him the hour grew far too late to think of moving forward. There would be no more marching on this night, no matter how his blood sang for him to urge his mount and the men behind him forward. He and his men would need their rest if they were to be of any use and he had his uses for them.

His mind made up, he called a halt for tonight. His face grew hard as he listened and watched as orders his orders to set up camp were obeyed. In the distance, even in the dark he could make out the shape of the parked wheelhouse. The very sight of it reignited a rage within him so furious it took all of his will not to act so that he could watch it burn. His face darkened. It had no business being with him or his party; nor did the 'lady' inside.

He makes it a point not to see her. He does not think he could react well to seeing her, but, the very sight of the wheelhouse makes him remember the way Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen humiliated his sister repeatedly; desecrated his homeland; and endangered all of their lives. If it had been up to him he would have left it and her in Dorne. Regrettably, it was not his to decide what happened to the girl and so he was forced to play host to the troublesome baggage.

He would have chosen a better gift to present to his sister, but, his sister wanted Lyanna Stark and so his sister would have her; along with an army. That much he and Doran could give her. It was such a pity Robert Baratheon robbed him of the chance to present to her the head of her husband. He knows which he would have preferred to take it himself; but, he does not have the luxury; not any more, not when his sister and her children could still be in danger because of what that stupid fool had done. That stupid, dead fool. He snorted, even with that ungrateful wretch dead his actions force them to shoulder the burdens of the consequences his recklessness caused. Still, both his brother and sister were correct; Rhaegar was lost to them but Lyanna Stark has her uses.

He pours himself a cup of Dornish red, quickly finished it, and poured another. If he is going to be miserable with his thoughts he might as well be drunk. What else is there for him to do tonight?

Hearing shuffling of feet he looked up. Seeing the flash of white and the familiar frame of the man coming towards him his face grew harder.

"My Prince." The voice of Ser Arthur Dayne pierced the wall of silence which shrouded Oberyn.

Looking at the man he knew for many a year, he could not help but hiss, "So, now that we return to King's Landing it is to be 'my Prince' again, is it?"

Oberyn should not but he felt a thrill of satisfaction at Arthur's downcast expression. Oh, he understood well the necessity of in following Aerys' and Rhaegar's commands which compelled him to stay with that chit, but, here he was traipsing through all of Westeros to get to King's Landing to get to his sister after he found Arthur happily playing court to the cause of Elia's humiliation. He cannot forget that it was because Arthur's precious Rhaegar that Elia and her children could be in danger. He cannot forgive that so easily.

"My Prince, please, now is not the time-"

His already fraying temper exploded, "Then when is it going to be the time, Arthur? It was not the time when Rhaegar humiliated my sister the first time. It was not the time when he eloped with the girl leaving his wife and children with that mad father of his. It was not the time when he took the girl to Dorne. It was not the time when Aerys all but demanded Dornish spears for that war his fool of a son started for her. It was not the time when Uncle Lewyn died. We are going to King's Landing now. When is it going to be the time, if not now?"

Arthur steadily looks gaunter during his litany, "My Prince, please, I understand there is much which plagues your thoughts and you are concerned, but my oath demanded I obey loyal-"

He stands up. "Unjustified, Ser! You, of all of them, would speak of injustice, oaths, and loyalty to me! Has serving the Mad King for so long caused you to no longer truly recognize what those words should mean?" He lets out an ugly laugh.

He knows he was being loud and cruel, but, he is in no mood to curb himself. He is beyond propriety and caring what Arthur thought of him. He was in no mood to be conciliatory or consoled; not by him, when he found him and his 'brothers' unapologetically in the presence of the girl he knew was the cause of Elia's shame and humiliation; not when it was his kin who are still in danger because of Rhaegar and Aerys' foolishness, and not when good Dornishmen were forced to fight and die alongside the man who insulted all of Dorne so thoroughly; and certainly not know when perhaps even with Rhaegar and Aerys dead things are uncertain. Why should he be generous when Arthur was complicit in this travesty?

"Where was there justice in your prince's loyalty to my sister?" He raised the flap of his tent and a gesture pointed to the wheelhouse, "How is it just that we Dornish should have to fix this mess when it was we who were insulted when Rhaegar brought her to Dorne and kept her in our lands? How is it just that our brothers were forced to send spears for Aerys so that his madness cruelty does not turn towards my sister as it did regularly for his own lady wife? Where was the justice in finding you in Dorne at all instead of leaving immediately for King's Landing when you learned of where they were. Do not speak to me about oaths, being unjust, or loyalty, Arthur; not now, when you and the two others would guard that one on your precious Rhaegar's command without giving one thought to my sister and her children when it is with those who were in King's landing where your duty and loyalty should truly lie. It is not you who guards my nephew now. It's all fine to talk of oaths, but, oaths to dead men do not matter if they require you to sacrifice the living. You know better or at least I thought you did before this."

He knows he is being unkind, but, the true object of his wrath is far beyond him now and Elia needs that girl, and he is just as furious at Arthur as well.

Arthur started to pace and he looked as though he was trying not to shake. "My Prince, please, I know I have earned your disappointment and anger. I accept it freely. I know I deserve it. I will continue to accept your ire. I am just as disappointed with Rhaegar and just as angry and pained about this, but, you must know that I had no choice. "

'He had no choice.' Oberyn clenched his hands to remember to try and control himself at the response. He wanted to shake Arthur for such a hollow answer. "By the Gods Arthur, how could you say you did not have a choice? Did you even try to stop him or talk some sense into him? Was he so far gone that he would not have listened to you or anyone? When you found him, found them together, why did none of you tell him to send her the girl back? Why did you tell no one, not even your own brother? How could you have just stayed there in the Tower, in Dorne, knowing what happened?"

Arthur sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. Though his anger is slowly abating at the look of sadness, despair, and resignation on Arthur's face, however, he wants the answers to those questions. "Do you not think I ask myself the same questions every day? Oberyn, you cannot possibly know what it is like to wish that I could have done more and just sit there in Dorne knowing how wrong it all was. Do you not think I would have rather had none of this occur; that I would have preferred staying in King's Landing with Jaime Lannister, Elia and the children; or even that I would have chosen to fight and die along side Lewyn? What would you have me do? I was sworn to obey Aerys and I was sworn to obey Rhaegar. I could not defy them no matter how much I wished I could."

Oberyn could almost taste the guilt which permeates Arthur's words and though he understands what his friend is saying, but, it does not make any of this easier, "You talk of wishing to be with Elia and the children? Did you not think of what this meant for them? Did you imagine what troubles they faced and still may?"

Arthur's voice was full of disgust and recrimination, "Do not think for one moment that any censure you have to deliver I have not delivered to myself. I have had nothing to do but think about this. Believe me when I say it would have been no easier if it was Ashara in Elia's place. If Elia and those children are dear to you they are no less dear to me, Oberyn. Do you think it will be easy for me to leave them or it will be when I go her in front of her with Lyanna Stark at my back? Do you not think it haunts me that my dearest friends think that I would betray them like this. Keeping my vows was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do and I prayed to all the Gods that I would never have to do something like this again. But, they are well aren't they?" Oberyn sighed and turned away could no longer bear to look at Arthur's face.

He could not help it, but, more worry crept into his voice, as he sat down, "She's holed up in King's Landing with Tywin Lannister." He laughs, but, it is choked, "It's less discomforting than her being with Aerys himself, but, only just. I remember his behavior with us at Casterly Rock and how he hated Aerys choosing Elia over his girl. How am I supposed to trust him? Do you think he would support her because he is a man with a pure heart?"

"I know full well what Lannister is like and what he had done, but, he is not stupid enough to go back on his word now. His pride will not allow it." Oberyn lets out another laugh and shakes his head. There was truth in that at least. Still, it did not offer him any comfort. As if Arthur was trying to console him, he added, "His son is sworn to Aegon now and in King's Landing. He would not wish to lose face with his own son."

Oberyn snorted, "What do you know of Ser Jaime Lannister?"

Arthur looked confused at the question. "You have met him. Certainly you formed an opinion of him by now."

"That was when we went to Casterly Rock to consider our marriages. I do not know much about him as a member of the Kingsguard."

Arthur considered, "Young, but, excellent with a sword. Though the way he was inducted into our order shocked him as much as it did us…" They share a look; the both of them took a moment to remember how that came about, before Arthur continued, "He was eager. He has a good heart and he is not shy about wanting to do right." Arthur reeked of truthfulness, but, Oberyn took in the way Arthur turned his head away from him and whispered the last.

In the end, he just said, "Good." It was good enough; for now, until Oberyn set foot in King's Landing, it would have to be good enough.

In the silence another question pierced his mind, "Did you tell her?"

Arthur looked at him confusedly, "Tell who what?"

The words are heavy in his throat, "Lyanna Stark. Did you tell her about his death? Or that we are going to King's Landing?"

Arthur took some time looking at his lap before looking back up at him. "She knows we are headed to King's Landing, but, otherwise, the Lord Commander said to leave her be for now."

He quirked an eyebrow, "So she knows where she is going but not why; nor does she know why now? Did she even ask?"

Arthur avoided looking him in the eye, "She does ask, but, the deaths of her father and brother were not easy for her to hear. The rest..." He trailed off, looking uneasy.

Oberyn thought grimly that his friend would have him be sympathetic. Oberyn was sympathetic to those who unjustly suffered Aerys' wrath, but, he had very little sympathy for the girl or for his sister's dead husband, "I see, well, did you tell her how father and brother died? Or that Aerys had them killed?"

Arthur turned away, "No. The Lord Commander is right in saying she's young and that was gruesome to hear at any age. It would not do for her to be unwell while we are still travelling. It is not easy to talk about much less to hear."

Remembering how they all came to this point, Oberyn snorted, "If she is old enough to elope with a married man then she is old enough to hear about what that elopement lead to; even if the consequences of it are not entirely her doing." Despite his anger at Arthur mostly dissipated he was in no mood to soften his voice when he continued, "So, then she does not know about Rhaegar or Aerys." It was a statement not a question.

Arthur shook his head, "No, not yet. Do you know what will happen to her once we get to King's Landing?"

Oberyn did not hide the grimace on his face, but, his voice was firm. "If all things go as Elia expects…" And hopes, he does not say, "No doubt Elia will some thoughts on the matter, but, with the death of their father, I expect that her older brother will make her choices for her." That is the world they live in; the way things are done, and it is best for them all if she does as was intended.

Arthur sighed and nodded his acquiescence, but, said nothing. Good. It is well past the time the girl should have been forced to acknowledge that though they are privileged, with those privileges come expectations which must be met no matter how undesirable they may seem. Rhaegar knew it, ignored it, and died for it. He will not have that girl's obstinacy ruin more than it already ruined.

Arthur moved to get up and leave. Once he opens the flap to the tent to exit Oberyn cleared his throat.

Oberyn looks at him; gaze direct, voice soft, "Arthur, I do not have to tell you my patience with this has already worn quite thin. Tell her before we reach King's Landing or I will. If your Lord Commander objects, tell him that it is better she know now so she has enough time to adjust to the reality of things. I doubt it would be easier coming from me."


	4. Jaime, Barristan

"Have they reached the gates?"

The attendant nodded to Elia who responded to action with a simple, "Good."

Jaime watched with amusement as the man tried, rather unsuccessfully, to look undisturbed in the face of her nonchalance, but, got no help from the impassive face of his father who stood to Elia's right.

Jaime was not surprised most others would not consider the reality of rebel lords arriving at King's Landing as anything 'good', but, he knew he was just as relieved as they seemed to be at the prospect of a resolution to this debacle. He was certain they caught the man's reaction, but, they paid it no mind, instead facing straight ahead.

They stood outside the entrance of the Red Keep waiting. Jaime was sick of waiting, but, he was also prepared for danger. There were household guards, Lannister guards, and members of the City Watch present; to prevent troublesome possibilities from manifesting.

Though she had not said it, Elia was worried of what Robert Baratheon's fury and Ned Stark's righteousness could cause. They knew from Uncle Kevan's rather brief missive that the other lords had agreed to peace terms provided the return of Lady Stark and lifting of the Siege of Storm's End, but, words were one thing, actions another. It was not as though they were able to produce the lady just yet; simply producing the girl would not solve problems. His father, no doubt, was eager to see these other lords; if only to gauge their usefulness.

Uncle Kevan's missive also informed them about the unexpected company that those other lords would be bringing with them. His father seemingly disapproved, but, there was a glint in his eye and for a moment Jaime suspected his father had been very close to suggesting that Ser Barristan be stripped of his responsibility of the Kingsguard. However, one look at the letter caused Elia to nod approvingly, "It is just as well that they return a well respected member of the Kingsguard to her son and it speaks highly of them that they would treat his injuries."

Jaime caught the way Elia had not looked at his father, but, knew better than to mention it in front of him.

When they had been in private he asked her if she was planning on removing Ser Barristan from their order.

_Her eyes moved to her children. "I had no intention of doing such a thing."_

_"Why not? You would be well within your rights." He was curious about her motives behind this. His father was mostly closed to him, but, he knew his father. Though she was still mostly unknown, she was slightly more open to him._

_She returned with a question of her own, "How do you think such a thing would be received coming from me?" Not that open, apparently. He almost smiled._

_"You are King Aegon's Regent. That gives you the right."_

_"True, I am my son's regent, but, I am a new one in unusual circumstances. As it is, if the reports are accurate and the Hand seems to think they are, the Kingsguard already has two vacancies. Why create a third unnecessarily?" He nods; her arguments are logical._

_She smirks, "As you say, I am the Regent, however, I am a Regent who is in need of backing of lords, many of whom would not be too willing to allow me very many liberties, much less one so uncommon. Even with the knowledge and blessings of the Lord Commander and the Hand of the King such a maneuver would cause others to say that I overreach."_

_The laughter threatens to bubble from his throat. He, most of anyone, knew how she overreached and she knew how he had._

_She asks another question, "Do you want me to remove Ser Barristan from the Kingsguard?"_

_"No." He respected Ser Barristan far too much._

_"Then why ask, Ser Jaime?"_

_"Others will question it."_

_She levels a look at him. "Others or our Hand?"_

_He tries harder not to laugh. "Either is a possibility."_

_"That the Kingsguard serve for life will not be questioned." He killed a king and here he was._

_He does laugh, "A murderer and an oathbreaker, almost; it is quite the Kingsguard you seem to be amassing for your son."_

_If the smile playing at her lips was any indication, it seemed she shared just some of his humor, "I would rather know the faults of the men who would serve and protect my son."_

_That he did not doubt._

That was the end of the matter; or at least it would be until the Lord Commander, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell returned. Still, he doubted it would change much; the Kingsguard do serve for life. With the way they stayed away, even after Prince Rhaegar had died, and with Lady Stark, at that, he doubted they would be less than understanding. If there was an issue with Ser Barristan and his other brothers, they would no doubt settle it themselves. Of course, Elia would settle the matter for them, if it came to that.

When the party arrived, and even though no one but his uncle who climbed off of his horse and walked up the steps to them, he tensed and reflexively put his right hand on the hilt of his sword. He was not the only one who tensed. While Elia's posture had not changed, he could see the way her folded hands tightened against each other. Even his father's expression became even grimmer.

* * *

Ned had not spoken as he rode through King's Landing. As he, Robert, and Jon followed Lord Kevan to the Red Keep, he had looked around the city. Though King's Landing was not in shambles as other places he had seen, it was not untouched by war either. It seemed to be mending. He wondered if that was a good omen or a bad one.

Lord Kevan had not said much to them, but, it was clear with only a few words from the man they were to let him approach the awaiting party first. Robert was livid at being ordered but he listened to Jon, and Ned had to agree that it was probably for the best for them to do as Lord Kevan said. There was hardly a protocol for this, but, it was best to be careful.

He did not want to be in King's Landing. This was not his place and this was where his father and brother died. Yet, here he had to be, if he wanted Lyanna back. He missed her terribly. She and Benjen were all he had left. She, Benjen, and Catelyn were all he had left. If Robert had his way and it was his right, Lyanna would be parted from him soon enough and Catelyn had been Brandon's until she was not. All of this was new to him.

He did not think Lyanna was here, but, she would be sooner rather than later. He closed his eyes; she would not be the only one, Oberyn Martell and the members of the Kingsguard would be present; as would Rhaegar's widow.

He shook his head. He did not want to see Elia Martell of House Targaryen, the Princess Regent, as she styles herself. What can he say to the woman whose husband took Lyanna at her expense; the same woman whose brother had Lyanna? He was sure she did not want to see him either.

If how Lord Kevan acted was any indication Lord Tywin would be no friend to them, either. The Lannisters and Targaryens again combined; who knew how that came about and why now? He did not trust the Lannister's much and disliked how they inserted themselves into the situation, but, Kevan Lannister had the right of it: Aerys Targaryen was dead and his sister would be returned to him. There was justice in that at least.

It did not matter if any of them liked each other, they would need to see each other if this was to be ended. No matter what his grandfather or father had done he understood it was the boy's right to be King even if he would have preferred it to be Robert. If it meant his sister would be returned to him and he could return to Winterfell with the realm at peace, he would do just about anything.

When they arrived in front of the Red Keep Ned saw members of the City Watch, household guards, as well quite a few guards in Lannister clothing waiting for them. However, it was the group of three at the edge of the top steps whose gazes watched them intently who Lord Kevan approached first which held his attention. The dark haired woman was flanked by two men, though they were dressed differently were clearly family; Lannisters.

The woman could only be Elia Martell Targaryen. Ned saw that she was dressed in a black gown with red at the collars, cuffs, and lining the hem. Targaryen colors for a Targaryen widow. This was not the first time he had seen her, but, Ned was taken aback that she was only a few years older than him. Had the situation not been so dire he would have thought she was lovely.

She looked pleased and inclined her head when Lord Kevan approached her first and bowed and kissed her extended hand. To the right and a step behind her, dressed in Lannister red, was Tywin Lannister. He looked very much like his brother; they held themselves like one another. They even shared the same brief nods as greetings. To the left of Rhaegar's widow, in blinding white, could only be Jaime Lannister, Lord Tywin's son and a member of the Kingsguard.

The next to climb down from his horse was Ser Barristan Selmy who rode beside Lord Kevan. As he walked up the steps, though the man's steps were slow, but eager. It seemed to solidify what Ned had seen on the way here; the closer they got to King's Landing, the man was less in favor of a regime change and would happily serve the current one. Ned was sure others would feel the same; the one change that needed making had already been made. Ned found that he was not bothered by the man's reactions; a member of the Kingsguard serves for their life, not for the life of the individual king. Perhaps it seems less like treason and betrayal. Still, the knight was received well enough, if the smile the woman leveled at the man was any indication; even if it was slightly more subdued than the one given to Lord Kevan.

When attention was back towards them, he, Jon, and Robert, walked up the steps together.

When they were only a few steps away, Ned notices the grip Ser Jaime had on his sword had tightened and the severe expression on Lord Lannister's face. They did not trust them to keep their word. He tried to mask his bitterness about the thought, but, it is something he should have expected. Though they had true reasons, unjustly suffered, they had rebelled against the throne and now because of it his word means little. The thought of it sickens him, but, he will not apologize for it. Still, he would bear their mistrust, because he knows they are aware he does not trust them. For Lyanna, for his family, he would tolerate much.

Lord Kevan introduces them to one another, rather pointedly. With a gesture towards them, "My Princess, Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. My lords, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the Princess Regent, Princess Elia Targaryen, mother of King Aegon the Sixth of His Name."

The self-styled Princess Regent, however, greets them warmly; or at least far more warmly than he expected. "Welcome to King's Landing, my lords. It relieves me to see that you arrive in good health." She pauses and looks at them individually. He sees how she holds his gaze the longest. "Though, I wish it could have been in better circumstances." Despite the fact that she has him hostage with the promise of Lyanna's return, Ned believes her. Her face is serene, but, there is no mistaking the sincerity in her eyes; and the worry.

Despite Jon's opening his mouth to reply Robert interjected, "Save your platitudes, _Princess Regent_ , where is my betrothed?"

Ned almost cringed at the way the lady's eyes flashed and Ser Jaime stepped closer to her when Robert spoke and the stress he put on the title. He saw the way Tywin Lannister's became harder when Robert spoke. The Lord of Casterly Rock was judging them and Robert's outbursts, it seemed, were not welcome.

Her voice never wavered nor did her gaze leave Ned's face for more than a moment, "Providing conditions remain agreeable I expect my brother and Lady Stark will be here within the next few days."

Ned almost started at the response. Despite her tone suggesting she was speaking of nothing but the weather or the conditions of the roads, the undercurrent of the meaning of her words could not be mistaken. Robert furious expression at the reminder of the danger Oberyn Martell and his army could provide worried him; but, Ned was grateful Jon, who planted a firm arm over Robert's to curb him, took the opportunity to speak instead, "Thank you, yes, ah, my Princess."

They all heard the hesitance and the pause, but, it seemed the others were going to ignore it for now. No one spoke for a moment, not quite knowing how to proceed. Even Robert stayed silent though he eyed Rhaegar's widow and the Lannister's distrustfully. Those on the receiving end of it pointedly ignored him. Ned understood Robert's anger and felt the same, but, Lyanna was still in danger; he would not put her life at risk; not when he was this close to seeing her again.

After a few moments, the woman straightened her spine further and coughed, before saying, "Perhaps we should go inside. I dare say you are all tired and could use rest."

Of all the things she could say, that there is to say, he supposes careful civility from a conscientious hostess will have to do for now. It still offers no more insight into this woman, but, Catelyn upon seeing him in Riverrun before they married, reacted to him almost in the same way. It was simultaneously comforting and unnerving. He had little experience with Southron women, but, it seemed their manners would be the least troubling aspect to all of this. Detached politeness was better than subtle yet pointed jabs.

As Jon nodded his agreement, though his impatience grows, and Robert was fuming, they all knew benefit of discussing private matters privately and clearly nothing was to happen more quickly, no matter how much they all wished it.

She smiled; not widely, but, it was a smile, none-the-less, "Please, my lords, follow me."

Ned took in the sight of Ser Jaime Lannister relaxing the grip on his sword while the Princess tucks one of her arms into the knight's now extended one and the pair of them turned towards the Keep and started walking without so much as a glance behind; clearly expecting to be followed. He found that Ser Barristan was looking at this just as curiously. It merely confirms for him that though the gesture is relatively new, the Targaryen widow and Lannisters are very comfortable with one another.

Ned felt the tension rise. Though she says nothing she inclines her head sharply in the direction of a man of the City Watch. The way the gold-cloaked men dispersed quickly after just one gesture it was obvious they were hers, just as the household guards who were present who now took up strategic placements: some of them flanking them; some of them, behind. Tywin Lannister gestures to a red-clad guard; some of more of the men disperse, though some still remain taking up various positions around the group. This was prepared.

As the motley group walked through the Keep, Ned saw as she beckoned to an attendant and spoke to the man about seeing to the horses and making arrangements to see the men who came with them properly situated. She says nothing more until they reach a corridor and she and Ser Jaime stop, but, she does look at Lord Tywin and the man turns to one of his men and nods. Ned does not know whether to be nervous or breathe easier at this.

"Lord Arryn, these rooms are to be yours." She gestures to one door which is quickly opened by an attendant. Though there seemed nothing untoward about it, Ned felt it to be something of a test. Seeing no other option Jon steps closer to the doorway and steps back. Ned could see it was a very well appointed room. Jon's things are also brought forward; leaving them no other option but for Jon to thank her and go inside.

"Lord Baratheon…" Another one is opened, but, Robert says nothing as he marches in with someone following with his things.

"Lord Stark…" When the last one is opened Ned just enters though he is followed by Elia though most of the guards stay outside.

"I hope these rooms are comfortable."

He saw they certainly looked comfortable. Ned could not help wonder at the reasons for that.

No one says anything more until a cough tore through the silence.

It was Ser Barristan. "My Princess?"

They all turn towards him. "Yes?"

"Where is Pri-I mean, I beg your pardon, His Grace, King Aegon and the Princess Rhaenys."

She smiles faintly. "My son and daughter are resting, Lord Tywin…"

The man nodded in her direction before turning to Ser Barristan "Ser, I know how eager you are to do your duty. I will take you to them now."

As the two men left Ned thought they were being rather clever. It seemed the woman wanted a private word with him, they did not trust anyone with the location of the children, and they would remind Ser Barristan about where his true duty should be. He has been in King's Landing for less than an hour and he already tires of these court games.

"Would you care for some wine?" He would have refused, but, she has already poured some into a cup for him and for herself. Ser Jaime refused when she gestured to him.

He does not know what else to do and so accepts the glass to proffers. "Why have you sent them away?" He knows his voice was sharp, but, he is too tired to care or to play at being the polite guest.

She did not seem to take offence with him; she seems almost pleased by his question. "I needed to speak to you privately." She says it as though he was just a guest in her home; not the brother of the woman her husband eloped with, the son and brother of the men her good-father had killed, or a man who rebelled and fought against her family. He supposed Robert's behavior earlier did not inspire much confidence.

Still, his patience was already frayed and so he snapped, "Why? What could you possibly have to say that Lord Kevan already has not?"

She speaks to him in a direct, but, polite tone. "Some things, Lord Kevan, though a worthy individual, does not know and does not need to."

He glances at the knight; the man does not react to the assertion that his uncle does not need to be in the confidence of the Princess Regent, as she calls herself. "There is plenty you should hear."

"You say that as if you give me a choice."

Despite her calm expression, there is something despondent in the way she says, "None of us were left with many choices." The knight's face remains carefully blank.

Before he could ask her to clarify what she means, there is a knock at the door and a group of men enter; two of them carrying ornate, unequally sized, small chests. Before he can ask, Ser Jaime orders the men to put down the chests and they leave quickly. He notices the way neither of the two can bring themselves to look upon the chests and his insides grow cold, but, he does get up.

Looking at the dark wood and the direwolf carved into the center the surface one of them he finds himself trying to control the shaking of his hands.

"Are they…" His throat will not work.

"Yes." One word but it is tremulous from her lips. It seems his sister is not the only thing he woman wishes to return to him.

"Which one?" He can only just barely bring himself to say the words.

"That one contains Lord Brandon's remains."

"Their bodies were treated properly." He says it like a statement, but, it is a question. It seems incongruous with what the king, former king, had done. He wishes he could be pleasantly surprised, but, that hope dies quickly when he sees how she shakes her head.

"As much as the Silent Sisters were able; it was the least I could do." He needs very little to know Aerys Targaryen was a monster who valued little, much less convention, but, it is both comforting and distressing that Rhaegar's widow would.

"Why?" Why did Rhaegar take his sister? Was Lyanna taken or did she go with Rhaegar willingly? Why did his family have to die? Why did Aerys do what he did? Why does this woman act as she does? There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers.

So caught in looking at what is left of his father and brother he barely thinks on what she says, "It was left far too late, but, it was the proper thing to do. I could not stop it from happening, but, I thought if I did this at least, perhaps I would no longer see their face, hear their screams, or smell burning flesh in my sleep."

He turns sharply towards the pair; thinking it is just a set piece, like the rest of it; but, there is no mistaking the dread and despair in their faces. He does not need to hear more; nor does he want to. It just forces him to remember what he heard about the way they were killed; the way Aerys toyed with them before he killed them. It is like they died all over again.

"You saw them die."

"We both did." That is the first thing the knight says to him. The woman looks away again; but her face is pale.

He is distracted by the ashen look on the knights face when she starts to speak again, "It was our "duty" he would say, to attend to him while he attended to his own. We were there for every burning before and everyone after; even his own." He does not doubt what she says. That there is a harsher, unsympathetic edge to the last words gives him no sense of satisfaction.

"Did it?" The knight frowned at his question, but, she looked as though she was someplace else. Ned, yet again, wishes he was anywhere else.

She shook her head after a moment, "What?"

"Did it stop you from having those dreams?" He cannot stop thinking about them either; all of them.

"No." For a moment he wishes he could find comfort in the idea of someone feeling as badly as he does, but, he does not.

"Your husband's bones will be returned to you." Robert had fought with him and Jon about it. His friend was of the mind to leave Rhaegar's body where it fell, but, both Jon and he were able to convince him otherwise.

In response she says, "That is very…ah, thank you." Her struggle for words should not be just as disturbing as it is reassuring. It tells him she is just as uncomfortable with all this as he is. Of course, given what led to all of this, she would be uncomfortable; no matter how dutiful a woman and wife she would have been. Still the idea that she does not seem enthused about having her husband's remains back just confirms she does not serve her husband's interests or that of Aerys'. He is unsure of what to make of it and what it means for them, and his sister.

The thought of Lyanna forces him to speak, "My sister?"

Her expression did not change, but, there was something strange in her eyes when she spoke, her voice with a slightly harder edge, "As I said earlier, I expect Lady Stark to arrive within a few days." Again, a reminder of Robert's less than positive impression; he wishes he could take offence to it on behalf of his friend, but, he cannot.

"Yes, I know. I meant to ask…" At her anxious look, he started to think the better of it and so he trailed off.

"What Lord Stark, ask me. If I can answer it, I will." He did not doubt her earnestness, but, he did not know how to ask the question, but, it had been in his mind for quite a while.

"Did you think Prince Rhaegar was the type to take my sister by force?" He took in the narrowed eyes of the knight and the darkening of her face. Neither of them reacted further, though the woman simply took a breath.

She looked away for a moment before turning back to him, only to say, "I cannot say he was free from flaws, no one is, but, he was never a man who relied on force for anything." She turned her head slightly.

He nodded. Though he did not know whether he could take the word of Rhaegar's widow as the truth, if there was anyone who would have no compunction of divulging the flaws of a man, it would be the wife he humiliated. From what little he remembered of the man there was nothing to suggest Prince Rhaegar had been cruel. Still, that just leaves him with more questions.

Remembering who Lyanna was with, he could not help but ask his next question.

"Do you know if she is safe?"

"With my brother, you mean?" He bristled at the way she asked the question. He wondered if she was finding some sort of humor with this; as if some sort of perverse revenge for his questions and Robert's attitude.

"Yes." Oberyn Martell was dangerous and it was well known how close he and his sister were. The love of family got them to this point and he cannot help but think it is a perverse jape.

"She is safe. You have my word on that." He is about to speak, but, she interrupts, "For what that is worth."

He nods; at least she has no pretension on that score. However, her word will have to be good enough, for now. "Is she well?" He does not like the way the knight shifts his stance to stand slightly in front of the princess and neither of them meet his eyes.

Her mouth sets in a grim line. "From the last missive I received, it said she is mostly well."

Alarm sets in, and his voice becomes gruffer and harsher. "How do you mean mostly well?"

The pained expression on the woman's face as she closes her eyes and that the knight goes to lift his sword out of his scabbard slightly fills him with trepidation. Ned has never seen himself as a person who a woman needed protection from.

* * *

Ser Barristan Selmy stood outside the Red Keep. He was standing to the right of the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister. On the other side of the Hand, stood the Princess Regent; on her side stood his 'brother' of the Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister. Standing slightly away from them were Lords Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, Ned Stark of Winterfell, and Robert Baratheon of Storm's End. He was both anticipating and dreading the arrivals they were all waiting to greet.

It has been not a few days since he arrived at King's Landing with the lords who rebelled and now he was among the group which was awaiting the arrival of Oberyn Martell's party. He was nervous; but, like the others present he tried not to show it. To be sure, he did not know whether what he felt was just nervousness or outright dread. There were so many reasons for both.

Even at his age, the Princess Regent's brother was not a man to be trifled with and this was not just any visit. No one was under no impression that the man would be pleased to be here or the specific reasons why.

As for Lyanna Stark, he only had vague recollections of her. The most he could say accurately is that he knew facts about her. Those very facts: such as her being the sister of Lord Stark; the betrothed of Robert Baratheon; and, the woman who Prince Rhaegar absconded with, were why they were here now.

Even with the arrival of the Dornish or the troublesome circumstances surrounding Lady Stark, it was the reactions of his brothers which worried him the most. Though he is pleased with the prospect of seeing the other members of the Kingsguard again; he dreaded seeing them. He chanced a glance towards the Princess Regent and the lady's brother, Ned Stark. He tried to fight the flush which threatened to make its way onto his face.

He does not spend too much time with the Princess Regent or her children without others present. The Princess Regent welcomed him warmly and was kind to him; however, she is not as warm with him as she is with Ser Jaime. He doubted she meant it at a slight, but, it was clear he would have to earn her trust, where before he would have had it by virtue of the cloak he wore. Though Ser Jaime tried to convince him otherwise, he senses she does not trust him and he fears that mistrust will not be from the Princess Regent alone.

_"You worry to much, Brother."_

_"I arrived in King's Landing at the heels of Robert Baratheon and the rest of them. Had they marched on King's Landing I would have let Robert Baratheon depose the king who I was sworn to serve. How can you stand there and tell me I have nothing to fret about?"_

_"No one marched on King's Landing. You are loyal to King Aegon, are you not?" The other looked distinctly uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation._

_"Yes."_

_"Then we are speaking needlessly. King Aerys died and yet I live. I have no justifiable explanation of why I could not save him. I cannot in good conscious require an explanation from you or anyone else. You, I, and our brothers can only do what we are able to at any given moment." The younger man's tone is almost pleading with him, but, the guilt and shame weighs upon him to much to leave it alone._

_"You say that and I am grateful that you empathize with my circumstances; however, what will the Lord Commander or our other brothers, who even now serve the will of King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar say?"_

_Jaime smiled at him, but, it died quickly. "Our brothers will understand. It was a hard fought battled and you took injuries. That is more than anyone could want or expect."_

_"And what of the Princess Regent, I feel she does not trust me."_

_"You are charged with protecting her children. If she did not trust you to serve faithfully, she would have freed you from your vows the moment you returned, especially if that is what you desired."_

_The boy, no, man, shrugged as if such a thing was not so outrageous. The words were more than likely truth, but, they chill him. He knows earned her mistrust. He often thinks it would have been better if he died in battle like Jonothor & Lewyn instead of surrendering. That Robert Baratheon is a better man than Aerys Targaryen is no excuse for his actions. The regret of having saved King Aerys from Duskendale caused him to see the man differently, but, nothing gave him the right to break his most sacred vows to him or his heirs. If his other 'brothers' kept to their vows, then he should have been strong enough to do the same._

_"She trusts you." He cannot help the way it sounds like an accusation._

_The younger man smiles half in humor and half in unease. "Hardly."_

_"What do you mean?" The younger man frowns as though he just revealed too much._

_"She and her children have grown accustomed to me because I was here and she is not without her wits that she would dismiss the wealth of assistance and experience my father provides. I know she appreciates their importance, but my vows are incidental. I doubt she trusts any man on the basis of his vows alone; not any more."_

_The other man said the last softly, as though it was meant for his own ears. When Jaime saw that he heard, Jaime just shrugged as if the prospect of that did not bother him. For a moment he bristles in indignation and he wants to argue that all vows are to be held sacrosanct, but, who was he to question how others see vows when he broke his own to assuage his own guilt? The uncomfortable look on Jaime's face and in remembering whose company he returned, tells him it was not just the vows of the members of the Kingsguard which he was referring to._

_Jaime turns away for a moment, when he turns back, the younger man is wearing a firm expression. "Do not fear, Brother. No one, not even the Princess Regent, doubts your adherence to duty on behalf of the realm. I would hope that you do not continue to do so, either."_

Though Ser Jaime's words were meant to be reassuring, he still felt out of place and the weight of his choices was heavy. Despite the other man's words about the Princess Regent's apparent understanding of his situation he cannot help but feel disgusted with himself.

His eyes fall on Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark. Though they did not argue or seem put out when they saw how he sworn fealty to the new Targaryen king, they had not seemed taken aback at his willingness to serve the royal family again. It was as if they expected it. The thought that others saw his word as having little meaning or that they saw his loyalty as something fleeting sickens him; but, he supposes he has earned such a belief on their parts, as well.

Of course, it is not only how others view him which causes him great unease. Though only he, Ser Jaime, the contingent of household and Lannister guards had weapons on their persons, the way the guards stood made him distinctly uneasy. Though they all, per usual, stood at attention, their placements caused him no small level of curiosity. At least one pair of guards stood to the left of the group of three lords and one pair to the right; while a pair stood to the rear of them. There were also guards posted at the base of the steps. The guards, it seemed were prepared for violence. He could see by the tense way all the three lords stood; they seemed to recognize that as well; though each of the three men's reactions were slightly different. Lord Arryn seemingly ignored the guards; Lord Baratheon seemed increasingly annoyed and frustrated; and Lord Stark, though he kept his grim expression, repeatedly glanced in his friend's and the Princess Regent's directions.

The behavior of Ser Jaime and the Princess Regent also increased his weariness. Though their posture seemed relaxed and expressions seemed amiable enough, much like the day he arrived his fellow knight stood next to the Princess Regent, with his hand on his sword. The Princess Regent occasionally sent surreptitious glances toward where the three former rebel lords were standing; in particular towards Lord Stark. At first he suspected they were nervous. Considering the circumstances, it would be expected, yet, he knew it could not be simple nervousness. The feeling only increased when a regiment of orange and red clad soldiers made its way through the path leading up to the Red Keep.

Barristan felt himself stiffen as three of the party came to a stop just in front of the steps. He smiled as he registered two of them. He watched as the Princess Regent on Ser Jaime's arm, walked forward to greet the Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne. Seeing them bow low before her and but, not seeing his third brother, he also recalled his earlier thoughts and the smile slipped from his face.

His attention moved to the third man of the party, who actually lead the garrison of men to the Red Keep. He had not moved. Though he could not see the man's face because of the closed helm covering his face, the armor the color of copper and the cloak the color of fire meant this could only be one person: Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell of Sunspear.

No one else moved for a moment. Then, in swift motions, the man took off his helm and climbed down his horse. As he made his way up the steps Barristan could see black hair and dark eyes so like the Princess Regent's own. The man had handsome features, yet, they were marred by the ugly expression on his face. However when the man turned to look at the face of his smiling sister, the frown relaxed into a smile. Brother and sister embraced themselves warmly; however, the unease Barristan felt crept up again like a coil of smoke as the man's expression hardened again as he took in the sight of the others.

Though he could not hear what they were saying the man nodded once more and Barristan saw as he and Ser Arthur made their way down the steps only for the Prince to twist his fingers into a an undecipherable signal before the man moved to stand next to his sister; a frown firmly planted on his face. The feeling of dread bloomed in Barristan, once more.

One more white-clad rider, his remaining 'brother', Ser Oswell Whent, rode into view with a small wheelhouse rolling along behind him.

He saw as Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark made their way forward as well; the guards joined them also. That none of them descended the steps did nothing to calm his worry.

In the nearly oppressive silence he heard as Robert Baratheon made a frustrated sound as Oswell Whent took the time to bow before the Princess Regent before posting himself at the door of the wheelhouse, but made no move to open it. Prince Oberyn moved closer to his sister. Though Lord Stark gripped his friend's arm tightly and Lord Arryn pinned Lord Baratheon with a glare, the way the Princess Regent tilted her head slightly towards Ser Jaime who made his way to stand beside Ser Oswell and then uneasily to Lord Stark who nodded in return caused him to tense. The odd exchange worried him. Just what was it that they were expecting? His mind did not like the possibilities.

No one spoke when Ser Oswell knocked on the door to the wheel-house. The door opened and Ser Oswell extended his arm and a pale arm reached out to take it. A dark haired maiden, her posture bent, stepped out of the carriage. She took great care with her footing. She straightened. Barristan only had enough time to register how young she looked before he heard the angry roar of Lord Baratheon. He also saw the efforts of Lord Arryn and Lord Stark as well as the guards who surrounded them to keep the other man from moving.

He could only look on in dismay. The way the girl's hand rested on her belly was not necessary for him to see Lyanna Stark was heavy with child. Though his mind tried to fight the thought, he knew the lady could only be carrying Prince Rhaegar's child.

His gaze flew to the Princess Regent. She was not looking at Lady Stark, but, seemed entranced by Lord Robert as he determinedly kept trying to fight out of the grasps of the men who held him, yelling profusely about being duped. She was frowning, but, there was pity there.

Robert was able to break free for a moment, but, thankfully Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell closed ranks to shield the girl from Lord Baratheon and Lord Stark reached him again grasping his hand, preventing him from moving forward though the word "dragonspawn" fell from the enraged man's lips.

"Lord Baratheon; that is enough!" "Robert!" "Calm yourself!" the Princess Regent's Lord Stark's, and Lord Arryn's respective shouts cut through the noise.

"What is enough? Look at her! First that monster took my betro-"

"I went willingly!" At that pronouncement they all turned to Lyanna Stark. Barristan knew his face was frozen in shock. The girl says she went with Prince Rhaegar willingly! The looks of pain on the faces of the Princess Regent and Lord Stark and the frown on Lord Lannister's put paid to any belief that he heard wrong.

Lord Baratheon snarled and tried to more forward, pointing to her stomach, "It's a lie to protect the thing-"

Though she was shielded by his 'brothers' Barristan could see the way the poor girl shook her head and clutched her stomach more tightly, but, for a moment he saw a defiant look on the girl's face. He could not begin to understand what this all meant.

"That's enough, Robert! Not now." Lord Stark barked at his friend, but, he his friend was nearly inconsolable. Barristan found that he could no longer look at the man.

His eyes widened when the Princess Regent, apparently fed up with this display, barked out of her own to the guards. "Take Lord Robert back to his rooms. Guard his door well. If he tries to leave or fights it, put him in the Black Cells. Perhaps that will cool his temper." He knew his face was a study in surprise at the pronouncement. Prince Oberyn's Dornish temper was well known, but, it seemed the usually mild mannered Princess Regent's pity extended only so far.

Barristan observed the curious looks Tywin Lannister leveled at both the Princess Regent and at Lord Baratheon's retreating form. One glance towards Oberyn Martell showed that he was disgusted. The three members of the Kingsguard who just arrived looked relieved at the pronouncement. Ser Jaime shared a glance with his father; both of their expressions undecipherable.

"Princess Regent! You swore…" At the command, Lord Arryn started to argue.

"Lord Arryn, I swore that Lady Stark would be returned to her brother safely. I assure you, none of this gives me joy…" She trails of for a moment, taking a deep breath and he cannot feel badly for her and for Lord Baratheon at that, before she continues, "Lord Baratheon's outbursts, though understandable, cannot be allowed to continue; not towards the woman he claims to love, at least and not in her condition. Nothing will be settled this way. It is my strongest hope that you would do whatever is in your power to calm Lord Baratheon as soon as possible."

This was no request; still, Lord Arryn looks to Lord Stark to see what he should do. Lord Stark tore his gaze away from his sister's beseeching expression, to say, "Jon, just go to Robert, please." The tired sadness in the young man's voice was unmistakable. 'Poor man', he thought.

Lord Arryn searched for something in the gaze of his former ward. After a moment he nodded and followed the path his other former ward was forced to take.

Barristan sees the grateful look the Princess Regent sends Lord Stark's way before she turned towards Ser Jaime who says, "Do I have your leave to take Lady Stark to her rooms?"

The Princess Regent tries to form some semblance of a smile, but, it looks more like a grimace. He finds he cannot blame her. "Yes, of course, and get the Maester for her. It has, no doubt, been a long journey." She frowns before her expression becomes carefully blank. He suspects it is not just the effect of the journey she is worried about. With one glance at the three Kingsguard still clustered together she continues, "Perhaps Ser Oswell could join you?"

The three newly arrived knights tried not to show reactions, but, Barristan could detect a faint look of approval on the Lord Commander's face. He also caught the way Ser Arthur sent worried glances towards the frowning, yet, silent Prince Oberyn and the Princess Regent. When his gaze fell on Lady Stark's visage he saw she was visibly relieved. Whether it was because her betrothed was taken away or because her brother and the wife of the man's child she carries did not berate her, he did not know; but, as Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell escorted her away, he found he could not look at the lady. He knew it was unkind, but, he could not help but feel angry at her and Prince Rhaegar as well. He knew why he broke his vows to King Aerys, but, if that is indeed what happened what good could have come from their eloping?

Barristan sees the Princess Regent catches the startled Lord Stark's wrist with one hand as the other man makes a move to join his sister.

After a quick glance towards the slowly walking party, she whispers, "Rest assured, I do not mean to have Lord Baratheon placed in the Black Cells, but, his anger is not good for any of them, much less someone in her state."

Barristan supposes she would know better than any of them what it means to be with child.

Lord Stark took a deep breath. He too looked in his sister's direction and nodded. "I will speak to them both."

When the man turned to join his sister, the Princess Regent spoke once more to him, frowning, "Yes, thank you. Lord Stark, tomorrow, if you are agreeable I would speak to you privately."

Barristan could only share one curiosity-filled glance with Ser Gerold before they see the man's face stiffens before he speaks, "Yes, of course, Princess."

As he watches the other man trek into the Red Keep he cannot help but think neither Lord Stark nor the Princess Regent likely relish the idea of meeting, but, because of what occurred, it became painfully necessary. For the first time today he was grateful for the vows he took; serving, he could do.

He watches as the Princess Regent, Prince Oberyn, and Ser Arthur begin to make arrangements for the soldiers who arrived with the Prince. As their orders are being carried out, though he cannot hear them, he can see the fierce whispers between the siblings. Lord Tywin is speaking with the Lord Commander, possibly about the state of things in King's Landing; however, the Hand, it seemed is more interested in looking at the Princess Regent and Prince Oberyn.

After a while they converge upon one another. The Princess Regent speaks first turning towards his 'brothers' "Lord Commander, Ser Arthur, it gives me great joy to you returned and in such good health. My children and I thank you for doing your duty to our house so diligently."

Her brother snorts and she sends a sharp glance in his direction, before continuing on, "I know you must be tired from your journey. The night is yours to do as you will but I would speak to you in the morning."

Ser Gerold replies, "Thank you, my Princess; that is very gracious of you. May I ask where His Grace and Princess Rhaenys are?"

She smiles again; this one, a true one, with a nod in the Hand's direction, "Lord Kevan had kindly consented to sit with them and their nurses in the nursery…" Her smile slipped, obviously remembering why that was a fortunate occurrence.

All of their expressions turn serious when Ser Jaime returns to their side and the Princess Regent turns to ask, "Is she settled?" He notices the way she does not say the lady's name.

Ser Jaime's expression does not change but, he nods, "She is resting comfortably." He tilts his head as if to say, 'Whatever that is supposed to mean.'

"And the child?" This question is hesitant coming from her, but, Barristan does understand the awkwardness.

"The Maester believes the child is well. Lord Stark and Ser Oswell are with her now."

"Good."

"Good, Sister? It is a good mess we have to clean up, you mean. " Oberyn Martell barked. The Hand sends yet another unreadable glance in Prince Oberyn's direction.

She shook her head at her brother; evidently not wanting to have that discussion here. "Nothing will change what was done, Brother."

"That husband of yours and that girl did quite enough; that is for certain." Ser Gerold frowned at the Prince's outburst, but, stayed silent while the Princess Regent put a hand over her brother's.

"That is enough, Oberyn. Arguing like this will solve nothing." Though she tried to mask it well she sounded so tired and worried and evidently the fight went out of the other man because he nodded simply.

Ser Gerold finally spoke, "Then what will happen now? You saw Lord Baratheon's reaction. We all can sympathize with the reasons Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark's reasons for rebelling, but that cannot be ignored when this is Prince Rhaegar's child."

Her face hardened as did her brother's. "Lady Stark is Lord Stark's sister. I swore that she would be returned to her brother and she will be." Prince Oberyn's face relaxed, though she continued, "Naturally, she would have to remain here until the birth. I do not think travelling North now would be wise."

"What will be done with the child after?" This question is asked by the Hand.

She looks at him; her face is calm, but brooks no discussion. "Lord Stark would be the child's uncle, but, my son, the King, will be the child's brother. I dare say that is only just one thing Lord Stark and I will need to discuss tomorrow."

She and Lord Stark? The others seemed ready to accept this, but, he doubted any of them missed there was no mention of Lady Stark. He recalled that the girl informed them all that she left with Prince Rhaegar willingly. If that was the truth and not just something uttered in the heat of the moment, it seemed now the girl will have only so much of a choice in the matter.

He nearly winced remembering the girl was still officially betrothed to Lord Baratheon and the man clearly loved her still. Breaking a betrothal was not easily done. And true, Lord Stark committed treason, but, he did so in the name of justice. Otherwise he was a good and honorable man, very loyal and Lord Baratheon was a good friend.

He could only think, 'That poor girl'.


	5. Elia, Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Rhaenyra Targaryen was Viserys I’s designated heir. Her younger half-brother Aegon challenged her for the Iron Throne; the conflict was known as the Dance of the Dragons. Lord Commander Criston Cole of the Kingsguard crowned Aegon as King Aegon II. Aegon later fed Rhaenyra to a dragon.
> 
> A/N 2: Daeron the Second of his Name had a half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre, who rose up in rebellion against him. The conflict was called the Blackfyre Rebellion (195 AL). Blackfyre descendants have also rebelled a few times between the years 212 AL and 257 AL.

“It will go well.”

Though he smiles reassuringly; Ser Jaime’s response fails to calm her. Elia should not be nervous, but, she is. She glances towards Rhaenys and Aegon. Though this is hardly a meeting where children ought to be, she feels better with them here. Seeing where Rhaenys is sitting, playing with Balerion and Aegon is sleeping in a cot near the far end of one wall she feels her resolve strengthening. This is meeting is for her, them, and their future. Grimly, she thinks this one is still one of the first.

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.” He laughs hollowly. “The Lord Commander is likely more uneasy about meeting with you.”

She returns his laugh. He had told her of what Ser Barristan had said to him; or at least some of it. “I doubt it. The Lord Commander is one of the bravest men I know and he has never been anxious about me; very few are.”

He smiles lopsidedly. “Perhaps so, but, you are your son’s uncontested regent. It carries weight.” His smile sharpens, but, his voice is a low, whispering in her ear, “And why fear the Lord Commander when once, instead of fearing the man holding a bloody sword, you ordered him to burn the corpse?” 

She looks at him sharply, “It is nothing to laugh at and you know that was necessary.”

His expression softens, “So is this. If you can get my father to listen to you and quiet the braying of “our guests”, this should be no hardship.”

She snorts inelegantly, “Your father listens to me because of you and our guests’ silence is, likely, temporary.”

He steps back slightly, “Perhaps, but, they listen, as I do. So will the rest.” 

“They listen to me because the rules which govern our behavior demand it.”

His expression becomes grim, “More than most, we know what happens when such rules were disobeyed.”

She knew. “Chaos reigns.”

“The Lord Commander, among others, will find comfort in tradition and in following. They could follow worse.” She knew what happens when there is worse.

“Then I must lead well.”

Once again, he smiles; but, it is too serious, “You will.”

She frowns, “While we are speaking of leading, has there been much progress…”

He mirrors her expression, “It goes slowly, but, Rossart’s notes are helpful. Varys was quite busy before he left. The High Septon, after we made that donation to “assist in maintaining the Sept”, knows to inform us if he comes across peculiarities. Your brother, the Prince, is also looking into the matter.”

She considered that. “Good. The Hand does not know?”

“No; I do not think.” He frowns more deeply.

A knock sounds on the door interrupts them and she takes a breath before standing. That matter will keep. With one last look towards Ser Jaime who nodded encouragingly, she calls out, “Enter!”

The gray-haired Lord Commander, Ser Gerold Hightower enters and bows, but, she sees the way the other man looks around. She wonders what he looks for.

His eyes widened when taking in the sight of the children. Rhaenys looks up, but, she returns her attention quickly to her cat. He looks behind her questioningly, in Ser Jaime’s direction before turning his gaze to look on her. She hears the swish of Ser Jaime’s cloak as he shifts his stance, but, she does not turn around. She gestures to the solitary chair in front of her desk. “Please sit, Ser Gerold. I know you are anxious to return to your duties in full.”

“Thank you, my Princess. Yes.” The man looks at Ser Jaime once more before returning his attention to her. She wonders if he expected Ser Jaime to speak on her behalf. Was he expecting Oberyn or Lord Tywin to be here? She thinks bitterly and despite Ser Jaime’s earlier words that the Lord Commander could be disappointed he has to speak with her; listen to her. She thinks she might be disappointed in him, as well. In truth, she is disappointed in all of them.

Oberyn told her of the orders Rhaegar leveled at the Lord Commander, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell; orders to stay behind. She does not fault them for obeying, but, she wonders if they did so without question. Knowing them, it was likely. It hurt that they followed Rhaegar’s order and in doing so left the six of them so unguarded. Was obeying Rhaegar so much more important than those who remained behind?

Most of all, she finds she hates Rhaegar for ordering them to remain away. She does not begrudge his need to guard the girl, but, why three? What good would any of the Kingsguard do for a girl heavy with child? Did he not think of them at all? Though she knew there was no great love between father and son, what of his mother, his brother, his children, and of her? When did the gentle man she married become someone so callous? Could he not spare even one for them? 

She stops her thoughts from following that path. Aerys would have sent any of them who returned to fight as well. Still, that does not mean it would have been unwelcome. Even with the chance so minute, if Rhaegar were joined by at least one more of them, perhaps...She cannot afford to think about Rhaegar now; there is more than enough to think about. 

It was foolish to think of “what could have happened”, however, it is unavoidable. She knows that it is mere fortune and Jaime Lannister’s favor which contributed to what aid she had in the interim between Aerys’s death and her brother’s arrival. And as valuable as Ser Jaime had been, if he could break his most sacred vow, could she trust that he would not have abandoned them if his father ordered it? 

She does not forget that Lord Lannister said: “That King Aerys is dead will go a long way.” Lord Lannister has no love for her or her children and she knows that if she is not careful, his support will turn from her, if it suits his purposes. Had Lord Lannister acted on other designs these three men were not here to protect them from Lord Lannister or the rebel lords. She fights an angry grimace; she has no illusions about what Robert Baratheon feels about “dragonspawn” or her. Lords Stark and Arryn were supposedly good and honorable men, but, they were men who _rebelled_. What would they have done to her and her children?

Nothing changes that these men of the Kingsguard, even if they could not and would not protect her or her children from Aerys, could have protected them from others, but, stayed away until they had surety it was safe for them to return. What of her children’s safety and of hers? The City Watch can be bought and what power did the good-daughter of Aerys or Rhaegar’s abandoned wife command? It is far less than that of a Regent whose authority is unchallenged.

Perhaps had they been here or even fighting she would not have doubts about the Kingsguard. If Ser Barristan, even momentarily, could side with the rebels, could she expect that these three, having spent so much time protecting Lyanna Stark and that child, at the behest of the child’s father, would not favor the child? It is unkind of her, but, she fears they would favor that child at the expense of her own. She lived with Aerys enough to know of Rhaenyra and how Lord Commander Cole played a role in her depriving her of her birthright, and of Daeron the Second of his Name. She will not have that for her children. 

She says none of this, instead motioning towards a table; on top of which jugs of wine, water, and set of goblets rest. This careful courtesy that she has acted with thus far has worn her, but if she fails to abide by it she might just lose control of her emotions and she knows she is close to it, but, she knows she cannot afford to. Certainly not now: when her children are so young; when the others are still here; and, she cannot truly trust the members of her son’s Kingsguard.

“Would you care for some wine, Lord Commander?”

“Thank you, no, my Princess.”

“Lord Commander, I trust you well rested.” She smiles a bit, hoping that will put them both at ease. It fails on her part. 

“Yes, thank you, my Princess.”

“Good, I am glad. I am sure you are curious as to why I have requested that you see me.” 

She doubts he took it as a request. Ned Stark had. They were to meet today, but, he wanted to speak to his sister and his friend first and she agreed. Hasty judgments and too much emotion would serve no one well. Giving them time to act worries her, but, if the man is more at ease, he is more likely to be agreeable. She needs Ned Stark and his cohorts to be agreeable.

“I cannot say I am without curiosity, my Princess.” Again there is a quick look directed the children and at Ser Jaime. He continues, “You are the Regent. I would have met with you regardless. I must ask where are the Queen Dowager and Prince Viserys? I have not seen or heard of them.” 

“They are on Dragonstone.” Facts and news are always easy to deliver.

“Why?”

“The Queen Dowager is with child…” She almost wants to smile at the way Ser Gerold’s eyes widen at the shocking revelation. “Prince Viserys, naturally, joined his mother. I believe it would be best if they remained on Dragonstone for now. I prefer things settled more fully”, she finishes.

In the most flat tone she could manage, she offers, “His Grace had concerns about the city being besieged. His Grace had decided that it would be best if all the family were not together in the chance that things had not gone well.” Few allies, her husband’s death, and what happened to her good-father were hardly things that had gone well, even if she does not mourn the last circumstance, yet, it seems mad men could be correct about some things, at times.

She tries to ignore the annoyance building within her when the other man looks behind her again. Though she will have to accept it for the duration of this conversation, her next words are sharp. “We, my children and I, remained behind, per His Grace’s request.”

His eyes meet hers and she fights the sardonic smile which threatens to bubble up at the man’s expression. It had not been a ‘request’ and the other man would know it. Though her good-father had little use for most people, the safety of his wife and son were more important than Rhaegar’s children and wife. His gaze flickers towards the children. It does not take a very intelligent person to understand why she and children would be required to remain behind; the knight is hardly a fool. She was never family to Aerys; useful for begetting heirs until she was not and then useful as a hostage, though she proved to be of little use to him on that score as well. 

She straightens; she does not wish to think about Aerys, either. 

The Lord Commander sighs, “Who is with them?”

“Ser Willem Darry was kind enough to join them at Dragonstone. I am extremely grateful he accepted the charge.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

She continues, “That is why I wished to speak to you today.”

Confusion mars the Lord Commander’s face and he looks behind her once again. “What about Ser Willem?”

She looks at her children again briefly and she fights so hard to ensure her expression does not change. “Ser Willem has proven himself to be very loyal by accepting responsibility for the safety of the Queen Dowager and Prince Viserys. I am hopeful that his dedication to the family continues. When they return, provided he accepts, I will appoint him as a member of the Kingsguard.”

“Ser Willem is to join the Kingsguard?” It is not shock, but, grief that is naked on his face. She knows that her pronouncement served as a reminder of what, _who_ , was lost, but, this cannot wait.

She is silent for a moment before continuing, “I know it is painful to even contemplate and it is painful to say, but, I called you here to discuss the vacancies on the Kingsguard. My dearest uncle, Lewyn, and Ser Jonothor, can never be replaced; however, my son’s Kingsguard cannot be left incomplete; especially not in these times. His loyalty to us gives him credit. I am certain Ser Willem will be a good addition to your order.”

She means it to be reassuring, both to herself and the Lord Commander, but, the man blanched. That Ser Willem, who is not a member of the Kingsguard already, guards the Queen Dowager and Prince Viserys, is not lost on her. By his expression she sees that such a thing is not lost on the Lord Commander, either; if the resolve and earnestness on the grizzled face is any indication. Though she is disgusted with herself for thinking it, she reassured by this. 

Yet, looking at the expression on the other man’s face tells her that she was not quite composed with her response. She can see the regret in his face and she chastises herself for her lack of self control. She should not be ruled by her emotions; neither she nor her children can afford that weakness. 

Still, she cannot help be angry and disappointed; even if she does need his support and that of Ser Oswell and Arthur. One should not feel this way about the ones she should be able to entrust her life with, but, she cannot forget they stayed away until Oberyn brought them back. 

“Yes, I know of the loss of my brothers and it pains me just as much, but, you are correct. The matter cannot be left unsettled. Yes, my Princess. Ser Darry will be a fine choice. Who else?” The tiredness and sorrow in his voice is unmistakable and she is sympathetic. 

She knows the man may not like this, but, he must understand she has little choice. “Though I would have chosen the second myself, as I have Ser Darry, when I do speak to Lord Stark, I will ask that he, or Lord Arryn, offer some suggestion with respect to the Kingsguard, provided it is an agreeable one.”

The older man straightens. He looks to Ser Jaime again before looking back at her. She wonders if the other man is trying to glean her motives by looking at Ser Jaime. It matters not. He will know what she intends soon enough.

“They are acknowledged traitors. Why would you offer such a concession?” He is not overly hostile, but, he does not like her pronouncement.

“They may be traitors, but, the war is ended, and though they were the enemy to my house, I do not seek to continue to be an enemy when I could have peace for my family and the realm.” He must sense the sentiment behind her reasoning as he simply nods.

She looks to Ser Jaime once more before turning back to Ser Gerold, “Such concessions also provide leverage which can be of use.” The concessions she intends to offer are not because she wished to offer them, but, goodwill begets goodwill. She hopes the sardonic smile which wants to make a home on her face does not manifest. There is no true benevolence in the negotiations which she wishes to hold with Ned Stark, but, Ned Stark had his own reasons for wanting to come to King’s Landing. Looking at her children once more, she has her own reasons for what she does; good ones, but, equally selfish ones. 

“Leverage, my Princess?” He was listening. Good.

“You asked what was to happen with Lady Stark.” Aegon cries, but, as she goes to stand Ser Jaime shakes his head and smiles and goes to where the children are. When she turns back to the Lord Commander she sees how his spine is taut with tension as he takes in the sight of Aegon in Ser Jaime’s arms while Rhaenys laughs at what the knight says. 

She clasps her hands tightly in front of her; to tell herself to keep calm. “Lord Stark had come here to King’s Landing to retrieve his sister. I have given him my oath and am resolved to deliver upon my promises. After she gives birth, Lady Stark will go.” Lyanna Stark cannot stay in King’s Landing. She will accept much, but, not that; not now. Even if she could, she promised Lord Stark and she doubts King's Landing would be welcoming to Lyanna Stark for very long.

He grimaces and looks away slightly before sighing; clearly not wanting to discuss this with her. “Ah, of course, that is proper, but, she is no longer a maid.” 

She inclines her head in acceptance of the point. It does make things more difficult. Even if the betrothal between Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon was broken, and she doubts it will be, Lord Stark would most likely seek set another one; quickly at that. Ladies of their status do not remain unmarried for long and Lyanna Stark is attached to a great scandal. If Lyanna Stark is to be taken at her word and Elia thinks she can be, giving Rhaegar her maidenhead was the girl’s choice. Her no longer being virginal would matter, both in the North and in much of the South. No matter where she goes, someone would want compensation, be it Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon, or someone new who sees the value in marrying the sister of a Lord Paramount. 

“I doubt a formal apology would mean anything coming from me, but, perhaps we can contribute something to her dowry.” 

To the unanswered question in his face she continues, “As to the child, as one of a Crown Prince, he or she cannot be allowed to be raised away from King’s Landing, by, as you say, acknowledged traitors. If one a member of the Kingsguard is chosen whose loyalties were either neutral or associated with them, but, mindful of the vows which are to be taken…”

“They might be more agreeable to the proposal”, the other man finishes. She is fortunate the other man has not remarked on why she offered no personal reason for wanting the child about her or that she refers to Rhaegar as “Crown Prince” and not “Husband”. She wonders at it, herself.

“Yes, quite.”

Eventually, he lets out a breath, “That is sound, but, that may not be enough.”

“I doubt it will be.” She knows the truth of this. Seeing the Lord Commander’s confusion she elaborates, “Though Ned Stark would not approve or desire it, I mean to offer at least Jon Arryn a seat on my son’s small council. Anything else can and will be discussed later.” She relaxes when the other man nods, but, he frowns once again.

“My Princess, there is one thing.” His voice is hesitant, as if he does not want to discuss it but is compelled to. Curiously, he stares at Ser Jaime when he says this.

“Yes, Lord Commander?” There are not many things they would have to discuss, but, she does start to think about the possibilities. 

“Ser Barristan.” 

She prompts, “Ser Barristan?” ‘Ah’, she thinks as the man frowns deeply.

“Yes, my Princess.” The Lord Commander struggle is evident.

In her periphery she can see the way Ser Jaime stiffened, but, she does not turn away from the Lord Commander. “What of him?”

“Have you not considered removing him from the Kingsguard?” The man looks distinctly uncomfortable and full of regret, but, it is a valid question. She had wondered at the same question, but, had hoped to avoid _this conversation._

She sighs, “Lord Commander, you know better than I, that it is all but impossible to dismiss Ser Barristan from the Kingsguard. They serve for life.”

The older man’s voice is soft when he replies, “Yes that is so; however, he tells me he surrendered to Robert Baratheon. He admitted he felt that having that traitor as king would have been preferable to serving King Aerys.” The disapproval and disappointment is clear in his voice, even though it seems that he is deeply troubled by mentioning his concern. 

Her tone is soft, but, firm. “Lord Commander, I assure you, such a prospect, that a man of character like Ser Barristan would forget that such a preference would mean ignoring possible unexpected consequences for others not either man, fills me with great unease; but, I cannot fault Ser Barristan for this while he was grievously injured as a result of fighting in the name of the king, in a war which caused so much senseless pain, destruction, and death.” 

The silence is heavy for a few moments before she continues, “When he returned, I saw how repentant he was. I will not hold a man’s thoughts against him. I cannot strip him of what should not be taken for what had not occurred.”

The Lord Commander counters, “How can we expect that he honors his oaths when he all but betrayed them, once before?” 

She looks down and tries, fiercely, to hold in her laughter. She had not dismissed Ser Jaime because she knew what he had done. Ser Barristan’s intended oath-breaking was of a far lesser magnitude, even if more maddening than Ser Jaime’s breach of conduct. The Lord Commander’s concern was valid, but, she cannot punish one man for a crime he had thought to commit when she fails to punish a man who had committed a far greater crime. 

She decides to simplify the matter. “I now know his mind and his limits. I would have men with a conscious serve my son and my family. I have faith he will not betray his oath again.” Anyone could see the contrition and trustworthiness coming off the man in waves.

“It is dangerous to have so much faith in a man who broke his vows even once.” The Lord Commander could not possibly conceive of how familiar she is with the way one’s faith can crumble into dust. 

She smiles, but, there is nothing carefree about it. She tries holds the man’s gaze as she rises and it pleases her greatly that he stands. Ser Jaime, evidently seeing this, comes to stand next to door; poised to open it.

To counter the Lord Commander’s response, she says, “I do not deny Ser Barristan broke a vow others had faith in, but, men have been known to break vows. I can forgive a temporary lapse, once.” She and Ser Jaime share the briefest of looks before her attention is returned towards the older man. 

Ser Gerold stands in front of her considering her words, but, that does not stop him from trying once more. “Do not think of me wrongly, my Princess. I understand and sympathize with Ser Barristan as to what prompted Ser Barristan to do this. I, also, do not mean to denigrate him or question your right and ability to make choices, but, you must be certain. It is true men have broken vows before, but, the men of the Kingsguard should not be considered most men.”

It bodes well that he is this honest with her, yet, she is more than ready to be done with this discussion. “Yes, but, that was also true of my husband. He, too, broke his vows to me and my children. Even temporarily the result of his leaving us sits in my home and him dead. Ser Gerold, am I expected to forgive the breaking of one person’s vow but not another’s? Or, should I no longer believe that anyone who failed to look after the interest of me and my children once will do so again?”

She recognizes the words are cruel even before Ser Gerold closes his eyes and turns his face from her, but, these questions have plagued her. She means to move forward; however, she cannot if these doubts fester. 

When the Lord Commander speaks again his voice is heavy. “Very well, my Princess, it will be as you say. I will stand by whatever decision you make.”

With great difficulty she tries to not show her relief. “I thank you for that and know that I take your counsel very seriously.”

“I have one more concern.”

She worriedly tries to think about what he refers to. “Of course, Lord Commander, what is it?”

He frowns slightly. “The eunuch. I have yet to see him.” 

Relief fills her. “I have sent him to Braavos to serve as my son’s representative to the Iron Bank. He is of Essos and will prove far more useful there.” Save for Aerys, no one at King’s Landing trusted Varys. Though he proved helpful once, she had other uses for him. Judging by the steadily easing expression on the Lord Commander’s face, the idea of his being sent away was quite palatable.

The Lord Commander smiles, but, it is an unsure one. He coughs and says, “If we had been allowed…” He trails off. After a moment, he looks at both Ser Jaime and her and he tries again, “In the light of things, it may seem hollow now, but, to remain away was not an easy or desirable task; for any of us. Still, we could not disobey the Crown Prince. My Princess, that same duty to our vows will extend to you; and when the time comes, to His Grace.” He gestures to Aegon.

“Thank you.” She tries to smile his obvious sincerity, but, she is certain it is more of a grimace. When Ser Jaime opens the door slightly, he turns to look back at her; half in humor, half in pointed elation. She only has a moment wonder at it before he pulls the door open to reveal Arthur and Ser Oswell standing at attention, not half a step away from the door, looking rather sheepish and anxious. 

As the door closes behind the knights she sits next to her children and thinks she knows while she is relieved at the Lord Commander’s acquiescence and believes his words, it does not make it any easier to trust him or the rest of the Kingsguard. She supposes it does not matter if she trusts them or what they have done, so long as they serve. That is the best she can hope for.

* * *

The joy of seeing and relief of having Lyanna so near again after their family has been so broken does not change that Ned is being lead through the Red Keep to the rooms his sister has been given by guards. 

After she had arrived and was shuffled off to the rooms directed for her use, Ned had gone to see her, but, she had been asleep. The Maester, Pycelle, a short and feeble looking, older man, had given her something. He could not speak to her nor was he permitted to stay with her for very long. He only had just enough time to observe the rooms she was given. 

Though he had not been to King’s Landing previously, he knew the rooms were in a part of the Red Keep for the use of the royal family. It was alarming, but, they were rooms far away from his, and more importantly, Robert’s. He was not expecting a room which was so well-furnished, bright, and clean. It was warmer than he is used to, but, not overly hot. However, his suspicions were raised once again when he saw how pensive Ser Oswell Whent seemed. When he asked the knight about it, he received a rather hesitant and disquieting answer of, “These were the rooms of the Princess Regent.” What had been woman saying by giving Lyanna her rooms? 

It was all troubling. He knew his expression was far grimmer than that of a man who was recently reunited with his sister should be. This time he needed to speak to Lyanna; even in her condition. Even if he would not leave King’s Landing until Lyanna birthed the child, no good came of leaving things left unsure and unsettled. It would only be more difficult as time passed.

He is uncomfortable walking through the Red Keep. Not even in his wildest imaginations, could he have never suspected that this would be the course of his life. He was never wilder, in imagination or deed, than any of his siblings save for Benjen. The wildest thing he had ever done was to rebel against the Targaryens and it was because he was compelled to; not because he wished it. 

Because of it, he must act carefully and not only toward Targaryen loyalists. No matter what he does, he will leave someone he loves unhappy and perhaps even hating him. He cannot even take Lyanna home in her condition. As Ned is lead through the halls he finds himself dreading the confrontation which is no doubt going to happen between him and his sister.

Nothing changes she is heavy with child or that the father is not her betrothed, someone he knows well, or for that matter, alive. She is still betrothed to Robert and though Robert still loves Lyanna and wants to marry her, he has no room in his heart for the child growing within her. 

_“That filth corrupted her mind after he took her. I won’t have it corrupt her future. I lost her once and it took my killing him to get her back. I won’t lose her again, and certainly not to the thing he left her with.” Ned understands what Robert says, but, at Robert’s stubborn and furious response Ned turns to Jon, but, Jon has worn the same look of desperate frustration since Lyanna arrived._

_“Robert, please. Reconsider this. You love her do you not?” Jon tries to reason with Robert and Ned is grateful. If anyone can get through to Robert, it is him._

_“Damn it all, Jon, I love her and I always have, but, that does not mean I have to have that thing in my home.”_

_“Robert can you put your pride aside for one moment?”_

_“You think it’s about my pride? What of my brothers, my household, and my bannermen; do you think a child, born of who it was, born like it was, will be welcome in Storm’s End or the Stormlands? What did we come here to do? We came here to rid ourselves of that monster, Aerys, and you want me to bring that thing into my home? All those men fought and many of them died for me, for us, what sort of gift is that for them?”_

_Ned speaks for the first time, but, his voice sounds so much older, sadder, and more frustrated than he ever remembers it being. “Robert you are speaking of her child and my future niece or nephew.”_

_Jon, for his part, adds, “The people of the Stormlands love you; respect you. They will not object if you do not. No matter who the father is, a child has no choice in the matter of who their sire or grandsire is.” Ned is grateful for the effort Jon puts in the reply; however, Ned knows by the measured way he said this, his former foster-father does not entirely believe what he says. Jon has his own reasons for hating the Targaryens._

_“It is not a child; it is dragonspawn; born of the men who took so much from us. How easy is it for you to forget what they did or what we had to do? What right did the thing’s sire have to take and hide Lyanna away from us? Or have the both of you also forgotten that its grandfather was the beast that butchered Brandon, Lord Rickard, and Elbert and the rest of them? My brothers were trapped in my own home; our bannermen had to leave their homes to fight because of what those damn Targaryens had done.”_

_The shock of Robert’s frustrated tirade causes Ned and Jon to stand. As livid as Ned is Jon is the angriest he has ever seen him. “Don’t you dare, Robert! Do not think for one moment we forgot or ignore what happened. We do not need you or anyone else to tell us anything. We know what was done to us and what happened to those we loved and lost. We sacrificed just like you. We, our bannermen, those loyal to us also fought them. We even married to see this through. We bled; just like you. The child is not responsible for any of that.”_

_Robert visibly deflated and looks ashamed. “Gods, I am sorry, but, I went to war to avenge her family, Ned’s family; our family. Why should I accept that sour-fathered spawn into my home? I have waited far too long for her and I won’t have this overlong farce, that child, or the shadows of Targaryen filth corrupt my future with her.” For a moment, Robert had almost been cowed, but, the mulishness in him returned just as quickly._

_Ned wants to be disgusted at Robert’s words and he greatly is dismayed at the way Robert spat out the word “child” as if it was a curse, but, by his Gods, he understands his friend’s pain and fury; he feels the same. Even if Rhaegar had not taken Lyanna as they all had thought, Aerys had taken his father and brother from him._

_Ned thought it was fortunate that Jon pressed again; saving him from having to answer, “She will not forget her child, even if you want that. Or do you want to break the betrothal?”_

_“I will never break the betrothal. Lyanna was meant for me. But, in no way does that mean I should keep that thing in my home.” Robert’s expression is determined; it was just as determined that day at the Trident._

_“Do you think she will love you for keeping her child from her?”_

_Robert’s voice is the softest Ned remembers ever hearing it. “Perhaps not, but, how could I ever hope that she would be happy with me if the thing borne of what that piece of filth had done to her is paraded in front of her day after day.”_

_Ned could never bring himself to tell him of his certainty with regards to Lyanna’s never loving Robert as he loved her. Though Ned loves his friend dearly, Robert never did listen to reason where Lyanna was concerned. Ever since Lyanna had gone missing Robert had grown even more exceptionally stubborn where Lyanna was discussed; particularly where any discussion involved Rhaegar Targaryen. Robert could not, or rather, would not, believe Rhaegar Targaryen was not a monster._

_He is relieved when Jon speaks once more because Ned can barely form the words. “You say you love her, Robert, but how is keeping her child away from her showing that?”_

_Ned closes his eyes when Robert scoffs, “My bastard, the girl, Mya, does not live with me. You do not see me weeping over it. How many others keep their bastards about them or accept their wife’s if there is some other family to take in their whelps? You speak as though Lyanna is not strong enough to live without it. She can and will have other children. With me. Proper children; trueborn children. As it should be; as it was supposed to be. Isn’t that why we are here? Isn’t that what you wanted, Ned?”_

_Robert is almost pleading with him. The pain in Ned’s head builds. He cannot lie and say anything Robert says is untrue. He had wanted his friend and his sister to marry and become a family from the moment he knew of the betrothal. Women rarely have bastards and men have not kept their bastards in their household if possible. It is different in Dorne, but, outside of it, such things were less tolerated willingly._

_“I won’t have his constant memory and what he did to her in her face. Gods, what if it’s born and it looks like him? Like them? What then?”_

_“How can you be so certain the child will?”_

_Robert, with the unmistakable disgust and pain in his voice, says, “Look at the other ones. The girl takes after the woman, but the other looks just like him. I will not keep the child. Ned, it can stay with you, if you want, but, I cannot keep it. You’ll see it’s best for us all. We would never be able to move on.”_

Remembering that horrid conversation, Ned tries not to react. He does not need any of his “escort” reporting back to Tywin Lannister or Elia Martell more than they already do. 

As Lyanna’s brother, Ned is angry at his friend for being unsympathetic, but, as Robert’s best friend and as a man, he understands Robert’s perspective. Robert has ignored the way Lyanna all but said she willingly went with Rhaegar Targaryen; attributing her outburst to shock. Ned could not find it in him to disabuse Robert of the notion; he wondered at it himself. But, that does not mean that the thick venom in Robert’s voice does not worry him. 

Ever since he saw Robert’s frenzied reaction he wondered if he should break the betrothal. But, he found he could not. His father made the betrothal. Is he just supposed to disregard his father’s wish? He swore to Robert himself that when Lyanna was returned to them, they would marry. The very thought of breaking a vow to someone he holds dear is unconscionable. What sort of man would he be if he did not keep to his word, to his friend at that?

He shakes his head slightly. He and Robert were as close as brothers could be. Robert fought for him and beside him, for his family; the same family Robert always believed he would one day be a part of. Is he supposed to disregard that simply because Robert cannot bring himself to want the child near him? He does not know if he would be any different. 

Robert always felt strongly about Lyanna. Even if Lyanna never returned Robert’s feelings, he had hoped she would have come around eventually, most women do. Even if he liked wenching and drinking, Robert was far from an undesirable match; there were far worse men. Who else was there who could he trust to take Lyanna as a wife? 

Even if he does break the betrothal, who could he expect to wed his sister and treat her well? Even if she did not marry Robert, very few men, if any, would allow her child to remain with her. How many would even welcome her into their homes as a wife, now?

He knows some houses of the Vale, but, most Southron houses are still foreign to him. If he was to break the betrothal with Robert, how many of them would accept Lyanna? After coming to know about the child, after this war, he imagines not many would. 

There are many in the North who fought for him and his family and who have been loyal for years, but, a Northern match would not be easy to arrange, either. The Karstarks are too proud for Lyanna, even if they are distant kin. The Umbers of a reasonable age to be married are or have made their arrangements. There are the Glovers and the Manderly’s and others, but, he found that he could not feel that would be proper.

Someone could accept Lyanna even knowing her maidenhead is no longer intact, but, he has no surety of that. Some of them would even accept a match, even if it meant altering or breaking their own plans for their family, but, he could not permit that. He was under no delusion that they would accept a match between one of their own and Lyanna because they would want Lyanna to become one of them, but, because she was a Stark and some because of pity for him or for her. Though he never asked for the task, he was the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and the head of his family. His sister and his bannermen deserved better than that.

Perhaps, someone in the North would accept her; but, then, like him, to his own shame and disgust, would remember that they loved and fought for their former liege-lord and his heir who died for the amusement of a madman. His brother had been foolish, but, anyone could understand anger at the taking of their sister. Ned had known the same anger and the worry. His father, Rickard came here for the love of his children and for justice. They only received a cruel death without knowing the truth.

Would even Northmen accept Lyanna now, knowing that she willingly left her home to be with a man who was not meant for her? Even if they do, he cannot force his sister’s child on anyone; not when the child’s father was of the family they fought against so readily. He could have no expectation of a willingness to even try. 

He remembers the sympathetic looks sent his and Robert’s way when it was believed Lyanna had been taken. With one utterance the way people saw his sister changed. He saw the sidelong looks of the guards and Ser Barristan as she made her way into the Red Keep. He may be young, but, not one day had passed and he knows his sister is welcome in King’s Landing only because of whose child she carries. 

It would only become worse as time goes on and the news spreads. Lyanna was spirited, and that is what he loved about her and what Robert had loved the most about her; but, not many others welcomed too much spirit; certainly not from ladies who marry into their households and definitely not this sort. Lyanna would make a fine wife for someone, but, he was no lackwit who could believe they would accept both his sister and the child.

Aside from Robert, someone would take Lyanna for a wife, but they would not have affection for her or even make a show of having respect for her. Even if Lyanna never returned Robert’s affections nothing changes that Lyanna cannot spend her life alone. Now or later, she must marry. Lyanna would see the reason in marrying Robert and giving him her child to raise. It was for the best; for all of them. It was the only thing he could do.

When he reached the corridor he is shocked to see Ser Barristan at the door, garbed in the white of the Kingsguard. The other man does look sheepish and deeply uncomfortable for a moment before the older man squares his shoulders. 

The knight waves away the guards. Because they obey him, it is clear to Ned that the man’s duties have been reinstated. 

“Ser Barristan, you have returned to your duties.” Ned had known that once it was certain that Aerys was dead, there had been little doubt the man would have returned to his duties as a member of the Kingsguard; in one way or another. 

“Ah, Lord Stark. Yes, the Princess Regent…” The other man turns away briefly, but, Ned catches his expression. The other man is embarrassed, but, resolved. 

Had circumstances been different he knows that Ser Barristan could have been a knight of Robert’s Kingsguard; and almost had been, but, is not. This man had admitted Robert would have been a better king than Aerys, but, Robert had not truly wanted to be a king. Now with Aerys dead, he did not need to be and so this man did not serve Robert.

Ned feels no anger towards him. The man was living as his vows permitted; as they all must. Ser Barristan had served Targaryens before Aerys and he had also served Aerys. With Aerys dead, Ned could not blame the other man for remembering that his vows mean he should serve those who have come after Aerys; even if that meant the new Targaryen king, or rather the woman who held her son at her breasts. 

He wonders briefly why Elia Targaryen would order him to do this. Why is she so intent on being agreeable? Why would she give any of the Kingsguard the responsibility of guarding Lyanna. He corrects himself, mentally; Ser Barristan has been given the responsibility of guarding the child Lyanna carries. 

Even though it was not his intention, Ser Barristan becomes more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “The Princess Regent ordered you this.”

The other man looks down and takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

He frowns and he knows that under other circumstances he would not ask such questions, but, this was a matter of his sister and her child. “Aside from seeing the need to guard my sister, why would the Princess Regent require this? Or do you not have leave to tell me?”

The other man frowns deeply. “The child Lady Lyanna carries is that of the former Crown Prince and will be the brother or sister of His Grace.” The man looks away and Ned feels a chill. The woman had readily accepted the delay when he requested that their meeting be postponed until he spoke to Robert and Lyanna, but, he had seen resoluteness in her when they spoke of settling the matters between them.

“Has the Princess Regent made her intent known with regards to the child?” She seemed to have her own motivations for just about everything else. Why not this?

The knight looks distinctly uneasy. “Yes.” The answer is as breathless as it is brief. 

For a moment, it seems as though the other man would not elaborate, but, the other man does. “The Princess Regent and the Lord Commander are of the mind that once the child is born, they mean to have the child raised in King’s Landing.”

He finds himself stepping closer to Ser Barristan. He barks, “Why does she want Lyanna’s child?” He knows why the Kingsguard would want to keep the child, but, what are the woman’s reasons? Why would she want her husband’s bastard near her? Whatever reason, she is sorely mistaken if he is just going to give Lyanna’s child to her simply because she is agreeable.

Ser Barristan frowns, but, holds his ground. “The child will be the brother to the King.”

Still frustrated with Robert and dreading Lyanna’s response, he can only retort, “What does that matter?”

“The child is the son of Prince Rhaegar and…” The older man trails off.

“And he or she will be my niece or nephew and nothing to her. I know who the child is. What of it?” His temper, already frayed, is so close to snapping. 

“The Princess Regent is under the impression that the betrothal of Lord Robert and Lady Lyanna is to go forward.” The knight’s mouth is set in a grim line. Ned would not deny it.

“What does that have to do with keeping the child here?”

The older man turns away. When Ser Barristan turns back to him, he sighs. “She does not rely on my council…” The mournful tone of the man tells Ned that this is as close as the man could bring himself to say the woman does not trust him and he does not like it. The man coughs and recovers enough to continue, “But, her trust is not required to understand that she is deeply uncomfortable with the prospect of any of Prince Rhaegar’s children being in close proximity of Lord Robert.”

Ned almost winced. As much as he would want to defend Robert, he could not deny he shares the same concern. However, he has developed a reasonable alternative. He moves to tell that to the knight, but, recalling the earlier words of the man, does not bother. Ever since he arrived he had wondered at the Targaryen widow’s actions, but, he knew he would get only his answers when he would speak with her. He will most certainly speak to her now. 

He coughs, “I see. The Princess Regent and I will discuss the matter ourselves. I would like to see my sister now.”

Ser Barristan looks simultaneously relieved and uncomfortable. He still opens the door and Ned walks through the threshold. Ned closes the door sharply behind him. 

His face hardens as he takes in the well-appointed room. If Rhaegar’s widow thinks that her “generosity” means he will capitulate to her demands automatically she is sorely mistaken.

“Dearest Ned!” Lyanna calls out to him and he adjusts his expression to what he thinks is happiness as they embrace for the first time for so long. Though she is visibly changed; older and with child, all he can see is his younger sister. All he can say is her name. 

As they pull apart he takes in his fill of seeing her and she looks back. She embraces him again roughly. She whispers, “Ned, I am so sorry.”

“Sorry?”

She turns away, slightly, and put, a hand to her stomach. She moves to speak again, but, she stops, shy; something he had never attributed to Lyanna. She tries again. “I am sorry about everything. I am sorry you had to find out about this, this shocking way.” Shock is not enough of a word to describe what all of this is. 

“Elia Martell told me when we arrived.” She blinks. She turns away; blushing. If there was no proper method of discovering their sister’s pregnancy and the father had not, as previously thought, kidnapped her, there was no proper method of hearing information about the pregnancy from the child’s father’s wife. Even if the Targaryen widow’s behavior unnerves him he is slightly grateful to her for informing him of this. Ned does not know how he would have acted in that moment without the warning.

“But, Robert…” Everyone saw how Robert reacted.

He shakes his head. “I did not know how to tell him.” Though he is rather ashamed of that, it was the truth. She sits back. They are silent for quite some time.

“What is to happen now?” Her expression is downcast and her voice is soft. This was not the Lyanna he knew.

“For now, nothing.” Until the child is born and until he speaks to the Martell woman there is nothing to be done.

“When the child is born, am I still to marry Robert?” Ned wishes he could ignore the unhappiness and resignation in Lyanna’s voice.

“Yes. The betrothal was never set aside. Father promised him. I promised him. I cannot go back on that now.” He knows he is pleading with her, but, she has to understand.

“He still wants to marry me.” She smiles, but, there is nothing happy about it. He is not happy either.

“Yes, yes he does. He always has. You know that.”

“He still thinks he loves me.” Before all this he had tried to make her see that Robert does love her, but, she had been adamant that what Robert felt was not love. 

“He does love you.” The depths of Robert’s feelings for Lyanna were plain to everyone, except her. She told him once that love would never change a person’s behavior, but, he never could help her to understand just because a man has taste for women that they are incapable of love.

“I do not love him.”

“You never tried.” He knows it is an unfair; yet, he cannot help but think if she would just have made the best of it, like other women do, like Catelyn is, none of this would have happened. Even if Rhaegar wanted her, if she went willingly, he thinks she could have refused. 

Her eyes sharpen. “I should not have to try.”

There is nothing he can say to that. But, their lot in life is not one where marriages are made for love. One can hope for a happy marriage, love, or anything, without trying, but, not expect. Instead he says, “Marriages and love take time and effort.” 

She snaps back, “That is all well and good to say when you are not the one getting married.”

The frustration, long since building within him, forces him to stand up, “I am married. That is why I say it.” If he can marry without love, why can she not?

Lyanna’s face is frozen in shock. “To who?”

Their eyes meet. “Catelyn Tully.”

“But, she…” Was betrothed to Brandon, loved Brandon, and did not know him at all? Ned was aware. 

Lyanna bites her lip. “Why?”

He shakes his head again. “She needed a husband and the Starks and Winterfell need a lady.” House Tully was promised a marriage from House Stark and it was his responsibility to keep his family’s oaths.

“That is not what I meant. Ned, she was betrothed-”

“Every moment I think of her, I know she was to be Brandon’s wife, but, Brandon is dead. That does not change that Hoster Tully’s daughter was owed a betrothal and that was the only way I could-” 

“Only way you could what, Ned?” 

He cannot look at his sister. “I needed Hoster Tully’s men. Our bannermen were not enough for what we intended.” 

“You married her for men and a cause?” He cannot understand her revolted expression.

“Others have married for less. I needed to get justice for Brandon and Father and to have a better chance of getting you back.” 

She is shaking her head. “I did not tell Brandon to come here for me.”

He clenches his fists. “You did not tell us anything. You are my sister and you were just gone; taken.”

“I went willingly.” If she is frustrated so is he.

“How could we have possibly known? You said nothing.” Some of this could have been avoided if she just said something.

“You would have tried to stop me!”

“Of course, I would have. You are my sister. How could you have possibly thought that we would have let you run off with Rhaegar Targaryen? Did neither of you think that this would be discovered?”

“I would have never run away if I knew this would happen.” He can barely look at her pleading expression.

His voice is low. “No one is saying you did, but, did you think so little of Brandon, Father, and I, that when it was discovered you were missing we would do nothing?”

There are tears in her eyes, “No of course not, but, I did not know that Brandon would storm into the Red Keep-”

Though he knows it is not good for his sister, he is angry at that. “And that meant Aerys could kill him like that and Father?”

“How dare you! You know I do not mean that at all. But, no one could have known that was going to happen.”

“But it did.” 

“That was not my fault.”

“I did not say it was.”

“Then what are you saying?” 

Her voice was low and fierce, but, he is tired. “You could have come to me. If you truly did not want the betrothal with Robert we could have spoken to father about it.” ‘You did not need to run away’, is what he cannot bring himself to say.

Lyanna shakes her head. “You know Father would have not broken the betrothal. And, Ned, you would not have helped me break the betrothal to Robert. Not even Rhaegar’s child changed that.” 

He cannot deny it, but, that still prompts him to say, “And that made it acceptable for you to run away? We were worried. We did not know where you were only to discover you were with Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“I know it was not right of me, but, I knew the wedding was going to happen, even after Harrenhal, but, the thought of marrying someone I did not love…” She trails off. 

“And what of Rhaegar? Did you love him?” Knowing will not make anything better, but, he has to know.

She shrinks back slightly and he thinks his voice may have been sharper than intended. “Yes. No. I thought I did. I do not know.”

He is incredulous. “How do you not know? You either love a man or not. How can you run away with a man and not know if you loved him?”

“How can I explain, Ned? Yes, he was handsome and gallant, but, that did not matter. I think I loved him most because he offered me freedom-”

“Freedom from what? What sort of life did you think Rhaegar Targaryen could have offered you? He was married and he has a male heir. Even if he was the Crown Prince, running away does not change that Father set a betrothal for you or meant that Aerys would have accepted your relationship.”

“It did not matter what he offered, so long as I was free. That is why we went to Dorne. People are freer there.”

He scoffs, but, the sound is ugly to his own ears. “If any Dornishman found you first did you not think they would send you back to father immediately or tell Aerys? And how free could you have possibly been locked in a tower guarded by members of the Kingsguard?” 

“That is not fair, Ned. This was not supposed to happen.” She is frustrated; he is as well.

“Then what did you expect? That Aerys Targaryen and Father would have accepted this? Do you think the Kingsguard were sent to find Rhaegar for no reason? Even if you could not foresee this, did Rhaegar not think of the problems this could cause? Aerys was mad and he was the King. Even if Brandon and Father were not butchered did you think you were going to live a happy life in King’s Landing? Did you think the Martells would let Rhaegar set his wife aside-”

“Rhaegar would never do that!”

“A man who can take another man’s betrothed could do just about anything.” He does not know much about Rhaegar Targaryen, but, he is not in the mood to be kind, even to the dead.

“I told you-“

“I know you told me you were willing.” He cannot help his sour tone.

“It changed nothing; I still have to marry Robert.”

“You will have to marry someone.” That is the way things are done; the only thing that could be done.

“Why? Can I not stay with you in Winterfell? Or are you ashamed of me?”

They are not a people who are free with emotions, but, he takes her into his arms. He whispers, “Do not ever say that. It will never be true, but, you cannot spend your life alone. Either this day or the next; you will have to be married.” The words do not comfort him any more than he expects they would her; but, they are all he can give her.

“Robert will never accept my child. He hates Rhaegar. No one will accept my child.”

This time it is he who turns away. “I can take the child. I am your brother.” 

She must have heard something in his voice, because she asks, “What are you keeping from me, Ned?”

He exhales a breath. “Rhaegar’s widow wants to speak to me. Ser Barristan tells me she wants to keep the child here.”

She is alarmed. “Why does she want my baby?”

“He says because she wants to raise it with their brother and sister. I will speak to her tomorrow.”

She flattens her hand on her belly and she pulls away from him. “I know not to expect anything from her, but, Ned, how many decisions about me are to be made without me?" 

“You did not leave me with many choices.” 

Even if he had not seen Lyanna’s face, he regrets the words immediately. “I am sorry. I did not mean that.”

Lyanna shakes her head. “You do not need to temper yourself, Ned.” In a dismayed and sorrowful tone, she continues, “I know how others see me; how they blame me.” 

“The blame is with Aerys; not you. Everyone knows it.” But, knowing is not feeling and most find it more easy to blame the living.

She rests her head on his shoulder. “That is kind of you to say, dearest Ned; but, you do not need to lie to me. I think I lied to myself for far long enough." She takes a breath. "After my child is born, I will marry Robert.”

Though her last words were ones he hoped to hear, they gives him no happiness. He knew they would not and no matter how many times he could tell himself that this was the best solution for them all would change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 3: Even though this was never going to be a happy chapter, most of this chapter had been written around the time GoT Season 3, episode 9, aired, so I think it became more unhappy than I intended, but, the events contained in it are necessary, I promise.


	6. Lyanna

“My Lady.”

Lyanna Stark turns towards the stoic Ser Arthur Dayne. Had he been almost anyone else she would have tried to muster up a smile, but, she knows that would have been just as impossible as it was at this moment. Even before she arrived in King’s Landing she had very little to smile about; even with Ned here that was true. But then, she doubted the silver-haired knight would want a smile from her.

Though he tried to mask it, she knew the Sword of the Morning disapproved of her. In the beginning, because of his friendship with Rhaegar, she had wanted him to like her. Even with the time they spent in one another’s company, he still had not completely warmed to her. Arthur Dayne guarded her and her child without complaint, but, he did so with formality and obedience and very little joy or enthusiasm. He was also the one who told her the truth of why she was brought to King’s Landing; how her father, brother & then Rhaegar died; and that Ned had come to King’s Landing to get her back. There was kindness and vestiges of duty towards her; but very little else. 

Even before Ned scoffed at hers and Rhaegar’s going to Dorne, she only had to see Ser Arthur to be reminded of how foolish that had been. He was a sworn member of the Kingsguard, but, he had been Ser Arthur of Dorne, first. She had been a fool, then; seeing only freedom from marrying Robert and Rhaegar. She knew his vows kept him silent, but, she remembered when Oberyn Martell found them at the Tower of Joy. There was no mistaking the utter loathing on Oberyn Martell’s face directed at her and all three members of the Kingsguard present and there was no mistaking the wretched look on Arthur’s face when Oberyn Martell turned and stormed away or why Arthur went after the fuming man. 

She had been hurt by his rejection and almost raged at that; yet, the others members of the Kingsguard were only slightly warmer towards her and just as discomfited with her. The Kingsguard would guard her and do their duty well; but, their duty was not to her. Now that she was in King’s Landing, despite no one speaking to her harshly, very few chose to speak to her at all. Amidst the incredulous and disdainful looks, Lyanna came to find that the reserved reactions of the Kingsguard seemed almost kind. 

When she saw he was still waiting to be acknowledged she prompts, “Yes, Ser Arthur?” 

His lips twitched. “My lady, your presence is requested in the meeting chambers of the Small Council.”

That alarmed her as much as it confused her. “What? By whom?” 

She had not left these rooms since she has arrived and no one thought to change that; until today, it seemed. Not many besides Ned, the Maester, some members of the Kingsguard, and handmaidens to clean the rooms and deliver food to her had even ventured here. She wonders if it was Ned, but, Ned would have come to tell her whatever this was about himself. 

Ser Arthur looked away for a moment before turning back to her, frowning. “The Princess Regent.”

She sits up, “Why?” She had not seen the other woman since the day she arrived in King’s Landing.

He looked away again. “The Princess Regent has offered no explanations to me, except to say she would like it if you would see her and attend the meeting arranged for today.” 

She turns from him knowing his mournful and uncomfortable tone was more likely because the lady had not taken him into her confidence as he would have hoped and once, perhaps even expected; not because of what difficulties this would pose for her. 

She nearly spits at him, “Why? So I get to sit silently while she berates me for running away with her husband and getting with child or watch while the rest of them get to choose what is to be done with my life.” All of her life she was told what is to happen to her; be it by her father, by Rhaegar, and even Ned. That Robert will try to do the same is something she knew. Must she now watch as Rhaegar’s widow would impose her will upon her?

Arthur takes a breath. “All I am aware of is that she is asking if you would join her.” That tells her too much and not enough. It tells her that he does not know what to expect. It does not tell her if the lady intends on berating or humiliating her. It also does not tell her whether or not he or anyone else would stop the lady from doing so. 

“Asks and not demand?” No one was asking her anything or was this farce just to say that no one will ask her anything from this point forward.

“She is asking, and if you do not wish to go do not, however…” For a moment she is poised to refuse entirely except he lifts a hands and she sees the scrap of paper. “She would have me give you this.” He ended the reply and extended his hand towards her. 

Though his tone does not betray anything she can sense the knight’s frustration building. Whether it is because she questions him or that he has to admit his own frustrations at being excluded, she does not know and it does not matter to her. Even with the tone and blank expression, his eyes tell her the same things others’ eyes have said; ‘Though things were expected of you, you had your way. Rhaegar had his way. And Aerys had his. Look what happened. Be willful and dismissive all you wish, but, know that no one will thank you for it or excuse it now.’

It disgusted her; it infuriated her; but, now it does not shock her. She had told Ned the truth; she knew when she and Rhaegar went missing someone would go looking for them, but, she had not expected things to have unfolded as they had. Perhaps if she had known …she shakes her head. All that others know is that she eloped with the Crown Prince and now countless others are dead. Few would care to know why Lyanna and Rhaegar dared as they did. Fewer would understand or desire to. 

She takes the letter. She had known Elia Martell would have questions for her; everyone else did. Now, it seems no on will let her forget or leave her be. her be. 

_My Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell,_

_Though I would not wish to disturb you in your condition, I am of the belief that we should speak and following that, I would hope that you join your lord-brother; Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, Ser Gerold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; my brother, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell; Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale; Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End; Grand Maester Pycelle; Manly Stokeworth, the Commander of the City Watch; and, myself, today as we will be discussing matters of import. Some of the items that will be discussed do concern you and I would have your engagement._

_Princess Elia Targaryen of King’s Landing_

The script is elegant and neat. It was a missive written in a lady’s practiced hand; the type of lady she is not. The letter indicates the authoress was unhurried and undisturbed. She knows her thoughts and feelings are a jumbled mess and cannot put the note down quickly enough. 

The content of what she read both surprises her and does not. The appropriate use of titles was expected, but, given whom the writer of the note was the politeness and the lack of the writer’s feelings coming through was wholly unexpected. It disturbed her. 

For a brief moment, she wonders if the lady wants to yell at her to her face and not in a letter before the meeting starts. She dismisses it quickly. If the lady does this, Ned would have to be offended on her behalf and would probably refuse whatever demands she on principle. It would be absurd for the woman to do that. All of this was absurd.

That Robert is also attending this ‘meeting’ does not frighten her, but, she knows how he feels about her child. She also remembers the other woman threatening to put Robert in the Black Cells. Why would the lady invite him, Lyanna cannot begin to guess and she supposes it does not matter because he will still be there. 

The letter unsettles her and she wonders if that was the goal. It also makes her angry; but not only at the woman, but, herself and Ned, too. Ned had said he was going to have a meeting with Rhaegar’s wife, but, he had not told her about the others. He had not even said anything of wanting her there. She was furious that she had not fought it, either. 

She looks up to see the waiting knight. “I will go.”

* * *

When they do reach the council chambers there three people in the room and a table of with twelve chairs. One of the three is a maid-servant putting down a tray at a table off to the side. The dark-haired, black garbed Elia Martell stands next to the chair at the head of the table. Ser Jaime stands next to her. The younger knight sees them and coughs causing Elia Martell to look up in time for Arthur to speak first, “My Princess, the Lady Stark.”

The other woman smiles at him and greets him with a simple, “Thank you, Ser Arthur.” Turning towards her she says, “Lady Stark, thank you for joining me.” Lyanna cannot help but wanting to scoff at Ser Arthur’s relaxing stance until she hears the words, “Ser Jaime, Ser Arthur, you may wait outside for now. I know the Lord Commander will be here and as much as I value his council when the rest of our number arrives I would have you both join us. Ser Jaime you may leave the door open.” 

Though she tries not to show it, Lyanna is unsure if she likes the prospect of being left alone with Elia Martell; even with the door open; even temporarily. Ser Arthur, clearly happy when the invitation to return was offered, looked hesitant about leaving, but, when his ‘brother’ bowed and started to leave, he followed. Lyanna did not bother to comment on the sidelong look the still silent maid-servant sent her way before she left the room. 

Once alone with Rhaegar’s wife does not know quite what to say. For a moment they just look at one another and to her consternation Elia Martell responds, “My lady, please take a seat. I remember it being quite tedious to stand about whilst with child.” 

Saying nothing, Lyanna sits down in the seat indicated; to the right of the head of the table. She wonders why the other woman wants to sit next to her, but, then she wants to shake herself. They are alone; there is no need to speak to on another across the table. At least, she hopes that is the reason.

Before she can say anything the lady pours some steaming liquid into two waiting cups; one is placed in front of her. It is tea; but, Lyanna hesitates. Protocol dictates she thanks her ‘hostess’ and drink it, but, there is no protocol for this and Lyanna does not trust the other woman; the other woman, Oberyn Martell’s sister has reason to dislike her.

Evidently the other woman saw nothing strange about her behavior, or rather, chose to ignore it; she simply sat down and calmly takes a sip from her own cup. Lyanna bristled; it was as though the other woman knew Lyanna’s fears and hoped to dispel them by her display. Lyanna was more furious at herself. She had been here for days; the woman was not going to harm her when the others, including her brother, were coming here shortly. Even without that, she was a guest. The Guest Right meant something for everyone. Grimly, she amended, ‘almost everyone’; but, then, Aerys had not seen her family as guests; but, this woman was not Aerys. 

The other woman looks at her, “My lady, please, I have found that most teas rarely taste appealing cold.”

Lyanna takes a breath, “Yes, thank you.” In any other circumstances tea might have been welcome; but, the only benefit of this was it prolongs the need to speak.

Even that delay was short, as the lady spoke after a few minutes. “My lady, I meant to speak to you earlier, but, the opportunity had not presented itself before now.” 

There was nothing Lyanna could say to that. She had not spend too much time exchanging polite courtesies with many other women; and thought this almost seemed to be just that, with everything between them, it was never going to be a simple meeting between two ladies. 

The other woman is evidently comfortable with social niceties, because she tries to engage Lyanna again. “My Lady, I have been meaning to ask, are your rooms comfortable?” 

“Do you not mean, ‘do I not find your rooms comfortable’?” It was not an accusation, but, most women do not give their rooms to the woman who ‘took their husbands’.

The other woman’s lips twitch, “Does it matter whose rooms they are so long as they are comfortable?”

“No, but, I want to know why.” 

“I have birthed two healthy children for the Crown Prince in those rooms. They would serve you well when you birth yours, my lady.”

“Stop calling me ‘my lady’! My name is Lyanna!” No amount of politeness will change things between them; nor will it tell her what she wants to know. 

“As you like, Lyanna; and you may call me Elia.” The other woman responds so agreeably that it frustrates Lyanna more. 

“Why are you so concerned with my comfort?”

The other woman, _Elia_ , Lyanna reminds herself, responds flatly, but, not unkindly, “Birthing can be a difficult and this is not a familiar place to you. I nearly died giving birth to my son. The Maester tells me the child is healthy, but, giving you comfortable surroundings is the least I can do.” Lyanna nearly turned away. She knows women die in birthing their children, but, she had not liked to think she could be one of them and King’s Landing is not where she would have chosen to do this. But, she must with everyone looking on expectantly, including, her child’s father’s wife. 

“But, why would you give me your quarters?” Why would anyone do that? Was that a kindness or a courtly rebuke? What does this woman want from her? There are many questions and not enough answers and it seems courtly matters or the other woman will not allow for themyet.

“I could have put you in the guest quarters, however, that would put you closer to your Lord Baratheon’s own rooms. I would rather avoid such complications for now.” She almost blanched. Complication is such an inadequate term. By the other woman’s tones she knew it as well, but, propriety would not allow her to speak differently. Lyanna is momentarily jealous of that. 

The other lady continues, “It would also be farther from the Maester and I have not as of yet retained a mid-wife. Maid-servants are one thing, but, not many of them have experience with birthing. I, at least, experienced it.” 

These were just more things she was forced to think about where before she did not. Rhaegar rarely spoke about Elia, much less this; but then, she is sure she had not wanted him to. Now this is in front of her and she hates how she does not have all the pieces. 

Her curiosity gets the better of her, “Where do you sleep, then?”

“Rhaegar’s former quarters.” The words hit her like a slap.

“Why?” The woman arches an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Why not’. 

Instead her hostess says, “Though my son remains in the nursery with my daughter for now, the rooms formerly belonging to the King will be his. I would leave the Queen Dowager’s for her and Prince Viserys his. That leaves the rooms you occupy and Rhaegar’s. I chose Rhaegar’s.”

“You are comfortable in his rooms?” She does not know if she would be; not now. 

“I am.” The “Or did you think I would not be?” Elia leaves unvoiced and Lyanna leaves unanswered. It rankles. Though Lyanna does not know what the other woman intends, she does not need a reminder of the fact that carrying Rhaegar’s child does not entitle her to what was Rhaegar’s; even if she did have his love. 

“Why do you not call him ‘Husband’? You call him by name or Crown Prince.” For a moment she wants the other lady to be angry, but, the only thing to happen was the lady smiles at her faintly.

“To me he was Rhaegar. He was also the Crown Prince; the father of my children, now our children; and a great many things and yes, my husband. Still, he was that when he gave you roses in front of not only me but half the nobles of this kingdom and when he left King’s Landing to be with you. At the risk of offending you, I dare say, you knew he was my husband when you left with him. I could highlight the titular differences between us or yell out that he was my husband every moment that I am awake; but, the only thing that would happen is that my throat would tire and I would look foolish.” 

The other woman just ends with a calm shrug and Lyanna wants to shake the other woman; but, she has to take a breath to steady herself. What does it matter to her now, what Rhaegar’s wife called him when it had not mattered to her that he had a wife? Even if Rhaegar loved her, does she have the right to be offended? All Lyanna knows is she is disturbed enough to ask, “Did you love him?”

The other woman’s expression shifts, but, Lyanna could not tell what that expression was. “Yes.” Lyanna does not think the other woman is lying. Though she is disgusted with herself, she thinks she might have wanted the other woman to tell her ‘no’. Rhaegar has said he loved her; but, Rhaegar never told her he did not love Elia. Remembering their too short time together, now she thinks that she does not know what this could mean.

“Then, why?”

“‘Why’ what?” The other woman has the temerity to seem perturbed by her question.

“Does nothing bother you? Knowing he is dead or sitting in front of me. This.” Without thinking she gestures towards her stomach. All of this bothers her like an itch under her skin she cannot find the source of.

For a moment the other woman’s face twists into what Lyanna thinks is anger or hurt, but, that moment passes so quickly, Lyanna thinks if she had not been looking she might have imagined it. “It does bother me in ways that I can hardly find the words; but, I must do what I should and what I have the ability to do.”

Lyanna narrows her eyes. “What does that even mean? Why are we here? Why did you want to see me?” 

Elia looks at her inquisitively. “You are to be here for some time and our children are family even if we are not. Then there was Rhaegar. Did you love him?” 

She bites out, “Yes, I loved him. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Whatever game this woman is playing she wants no part of. She willingly ran away with Rhaegar; obviously there had to be a reason for it.

“‘Loved’ or ‘love’?” Will this woman show her something beyond mild curiosity? 

“What difference does it make?” Ned asked her if she loved Rhaegar. She had loved him or at least believed it was love. She never felt more strongly for anyone else, but, it was all too quick before Rhaegar started to worry her. Then they started to fight. Then he went to war and died. 

“I suppose none, but, you are angry with him.” 

The hysterical laughter bubbling up from her sounds so ugly and her voice becomes progressively louder, “Yes, I am angry. We were together, but, he was so sure things would resolve themselves. If it was right to do then why would there need to be resolution at all? Then we learned of what happened to my father and brother. His father would not have killed them if they had not come looking for us. We fought about that. Then he started saying he knew why he had to be a warrior and that it was destiny. He did not even care that he was leaving me alone with the members of his father’s Kingsguard or that he was fighting for his father. I believed him and now he is dead, I am here, and none of this was supposed to happen. Why should I not be angry?”

While she took deep breaths to steady herself, Elia waved away the pair of knights who all but ran into the room with worried expressions on their faces. Elia’s reply was equally sour, “I will not tell you how to feel, Lyanna. Still, why did you think he would not have reacted that way?” 

Now she tries to shove both memories of Rhaegar and Ned’s words to the back of her mind. The only thing to come out of her is a harsh sneer. “Is this where you tell me that I was a fool and did not know Rhaegar at all?”

“Why should I tell you that?” The other woman looks at her with a mix of incredulity and understanding she nearly retches because of it.

Lyanna does not mask her bitterness, “Everyone else does. I gave Rhaegar my maidenhead that should that should have belonged to Robert Baratheon. I am the one who instead of doing what I should have and acted like a proper lady Aerys would have never killed my family.”

Elia shakes her head slightly, “Aerys was a hateful madman and I doubt you let what others say bother you. If not perhaps things would be different.” Lyanna almost laughs. Shouldn’t the other woman want things to be different?

“Then, why do you not hate me?” That was just something else she did not know. 

She gets a questionable response of, “Should I?” 

Lyanna narrows her eyes: half in anger; half in incredulity. “I am carrying your husband’s child. That is usually enough for most.”

“I do not know what they tell you Northern ladies, but, it takes more than one to make a child. Would you have me hate Rhaegar?” Lyanna just stares at the woman. 

“You do not hate him?” She flushes at her own question. Why does she even want to know?

“No.” The answer mystifies her.

“Why, not?” She had not wanted to marry Robert because she knew he would not keep to one bed; but, she ignored Rhaegar’s marriage. Even though she knew she loved Rhaegar, now that she had little else but time to think, she wonders how she could have so easily accepted the idea of becoming Rhaegar’s _other_ wife. She finds it difficult to understand why the other woman would not hate Rhaegar or her.

“I will not lie to you, I _am_ furious. I could have and would have accepted that he made a child with someone else and that he found love elsewhere. It would have hurt, no matter whom he did that with, but, that is not what vexes me most. What enrages and disappoints me is that he gave me neither the time to come to terms with such a thing nor was I given any consideration before he took you to my homeland to conceive your child. Even if things had not escalated as they had neither he nor you cared about the consequences; be it for me, my children, the rest of our families, or for yourselves. That is hard to forgive or understand. However, I have seen too much hate and known just enough of it to know that I do not hate either of you.”

Lyanna does not know if this was the absolute truth or if this was something the other woman had, as she described, ‘come to terms with’. Asking the question again will not explain why the other woman wants her child.

“If you do not hate me then why are you trying to take my child away from me?” 

Elia looks exasperated, but, not offended. “I am not trying to take your child away. I am offering to keep your child here with their brother and sister; as they would have been entitled to.” Her eyes widen in realization when she prompts, “Do you honestly think that I would keep your child away from you? Whatever you may think of me I have never been that cruel.”

Lyanna barely contain the hysterical laughter which threatens to escape her throat. She was the one who eloped with this woman’s husband and _Rhaegar’s wife_ wonders why she thinks the other woman would be cruel. 

“Then why?”

Elia stares at her. “It is what Rhaegar would have done.”

A chill goes through her as memories of Rhaegar come to mind. They loved each other, but, she also remembers that he used to tell her that he needed her and her child; that his third child she would give him would be destined for such great things; and how things were prophesied.”

“How could you possibly know that?” The moment Lyanna says it, she feels foolish. Did she know Rhaegar well? 

“As you say, he was my husband. Evidently, I did not know him as much as I thought I did; yet, I was not completely ignorant about how he felt about his children.”

Something about the way she says it causes Lyanna to exclaim, “You know about Rhaegar’s prophecy!” 

The other woman answered; her expression is cheerless as she shakes her head in despair. “Yes, I knew of it. I had not thought he would try to fulfill it. He knew better than most in trying to fulfill prophesies led to disaster. Then when I could give him no children after Aegon, I thought that would be the end of it. He had no penchant for whores. I never expected he -”

“Would run away with me”, Lyanna finished softly.

“Yes. Then, Aerys did the rest.” The both of them look away from another at the bitter pronouncement. 

Lyanna thinks the heavy silence settled went on for too long. She takes a breath and asks, “That does not tell me why you want my child to stay here.”

Their eyes lock onto one another’s. “Because I believe it is for the best.” 

“Best for whom?” This could only be a bad jape. 

“My children; your child; you; all of us.” This was absurd!

“Speak plainly. What do you mean?” 

“Rhaegar is the father.”

She snaps, “So? What makes you think my child would be welcome in King’s Landing. My child would still be a bastard. If he or she is going to be hated for what he is, then, why not be at my home?” She had wanted to believe Rhaegar about there being enough time for them to be married; but, there was not and he is dead. 

“My son is to be your child’s brother and he is the king. The king’s family resides in King’s Landing. And you will not be in Winterfell. What good is that?”

She raises her chin. “Even if I am not present my child would be with my family.”

An eyebrow arches. “Storm’s End is closer to King’s Landing than Winterfell. I told you, no one will stop you from seeing or writing to your child. Certainly, you see the convenience of that?”

_Gods, she does._

The other woman’s expression softens, but, Lyanna sees more resolve in it and she finds herself straightening in preparation for Elia’s next words. “I grant Winterfell is where your family is, but, your family now includes Catelyn Tully.”

Of course, everyone would know about her family by now. “Yes, what of it?”

“You would give your child to a woman you do not know at all.”

“I do not know you well and she is my brother’s wife”.

The other woman’s face was solemn. “You will know me soon enough. And yes, you are correct Lady Catelyn is your good-sister, but, she is also newly married with her first child. She is also relatively unfamiliar with Lord Eddard and far less familiar with Winterfell and the North save for Lord Brandon. Lord Eddard has had a great many responsibilities thrust on him far too quickly. It is far too much of a risk to take.”

All that may be true, but, Lyanna argues, “If my brother wants to take my child she and others in the North will accept it as their duty.” As she says it, she almost chokes on the words. She can almost hear the voices of others telling her that if she had done her duty, perhaps none of this would have happened.

The other woman counters, “Even if Robert Baratheon’s hatred of Rhaegar and other Targaryens paled in comparison to the love he bears for you or your brother, I cannot speak as to how others would react to your brother’s hosting of this child of Rhaegar Targaryen, just now. Lyanna, it is perhaps not my place to say, but, you must be certain your child’s safety is paramount.”

Lyanna paid her words no mind. “My brother would love and protect my child well.”

Elia sighs as if Lyanna disappoints her, “Do you think your brother’s love will prevent others from thinking unkind thoughts or reacting cruelly so quickly after so many lost so much during this war?”

She presses her hand against her stomach even as her eyes widen in horror. _Gods, why was she making her think of such things._ If this is what passed for Southron sensibilities she does not want her child exposed to it. She does not want to hear it and she opens her mouth to tell the other woman that, but, looking at her Lyanna comes to a sickening conclusion: the other woman thinks such things were a likely possibility. Whether the cause of this was her Dornish nature or if thoughts and plots were common for Targaryen wives, the only thing that prevented Lyanna from leaving was that running would not solve anything nor would it invalidate what the woman said. Ned said he would take her child because he was her brother and because Robert does not want her child anywhere near him, not because he wants to raise her child. 

The people of Winterfell respect the Starks, but, her baby will always be linked to her father’s and brother’s butchering and what happened after. She does not need to see all Southron people to tell her what they thought of ‘soiled’ women or their children. One look from Oberyn Martell was enough to tell her where Dorne stood. She knows it. “And you or those who are loyal to you would not arrange an accident for my child if left in your care?” 

The other woman smiles at her; as if she was proud of Lyanna for the question. It only disturbs her. “Of course not.”

“You have more than enough reason to want to.” 

Elia scoffs, “Lyanna, if I had any such designs I would not be addressing this. You should know I mean neither you nor your child harm.”

She spits out, “Should I?” 

“I would rather our children’s kinship be uncorrupted and for them to be the family they are. That is better done when they do not grow up isolated from one another.” 

Lyanna looks away. “You expect me to trust that; trust you, who just made a point about not trusting others?”

“If there is one certainly about being in King’s Landing and of the royal family it is that eyes are always upon us. Ever since I wed Rhaegar…” Elia’s voice becomes softer and she looks away. Lyanna fights the urge to swallow when Elia turns back to her. “Being of Dorne is seen as a blemish by most and I am a woman who must speak for my husband’s house. Even without Aerys’ and Rhaegar’s doings the scrutiny of me will increase. If that does not reassure you remember your child’s father is the former Crown Prince of Westeros. The Kingsguard will protect your child at all costs.” 

Lyanna wants to laugh. She agreed to go to Dorne because of their lax attitudes and because Rhaegar said that the first place people would look for them was King’s Landing; but, now the reality is thrown back at her and she does not know what do. And the Kingsguard? She knew they would protect her child, but, was that good enough of a reason to leave her child to their care?

She cannot help the bitterness when she replies, “They are loyal to you and have no fondness for me.” 

The other woman acknowledges her reply with a sour laugh and rebuttal, “Any affection they have for me did not prevent Sers Gerold, Arthur, and Oswell staying away with you; guarding you. If you cannot trust the Kingsguard to do their duty, remember that your brother rebelled once and your betrothed fought a war for you. There is too much for me to risk such things again. Trust that at least.”

Lyanna is stunned at how ugly, but, honest the words are. They sicken her and the other woman looks equally disgusted and resigned. She had never thought such things; Ned would not think such things. She swallows, knowing others could and would. 

She counters, “What makes you think my brother would agree regardless? You can convince me all you like, but, he will not listen to me.” After all, if he did, she would not be marrying Robert.

Elia’s dark eyes meet her grey ones. “I mean for there to be a successfully forged peace between us all and no one will have cause to doubt my sincerity. You will see.”

“You have started without us?” It is not only Oberyn Martell’s voice that causes her to stiffen.

Brother and sister smile at one another. Before any of them can reply Ned’s voice interrupts them. “Lyanna! What are you doing here?” A very anxious looking Ser Arthur was standing in between both men.

Elia stands; her face was blank. “I invited Lady Lyanna to join us.” It was on the heels of that pronouncement Robert and Lord Arryn step into the room looking stunned.

Ned glares at the other woman. “Why?” 

“It was well past time we should have spoken to one another.” She almost laughs. It is a wonder she has not fell into hysterics already. 

“This could not wait?” With that Lyanna frowns. Wait for what? Were things going to be easier if this waited until her child was born? What she had already heard would not have been easy no matter when she heard them.

She interjected, “Ned, if I did not want to be here, I would not have come.” It was one of the few choices she was left with.

Ned turns to her incredulously. “You should be careful, Lyanna. You are with child.” 

No one has to tell her about her condition. Lyanna would have snorted in derision if she had not been dismayed at Ned for not even considering that she should be included and at the ugly glare on Robert’s face when he sees Lyanna’s stomach. “Ned, I am not an invalid.”

Lord Arryn turned towards her, his hands raised in a placating manner, “My lady, no one is saying that you are, but, you did not need to be here or tax yourself.”

Lyanna fought the urge to glare. “I am here and there is nothing taxing about sitting and hearing others talk. The Maester will be here. He will know if I become taxed.” Lyanna ignores the disapproving look on Lord Arryn’s face, the proud one on Robert’s, and the frustrated, yet, guilty one on Ned’s. Elia, she noticed, started to stare behind them. 

The stern-looking Hand entered the room. Beside him were the surprised Lord Commander and the nervous looking Maester Pycelle and the Commander of the City Watch betrays no emotion.

Lyanna almost sags in relief when Ser Gerold looks between Elia, Prince Oberyn, and the Hand to ask, “Are we expecting anyone else?”

“No.” Elia turn towards Lord Arryn, Robert, and Ned to say, “Now that we are all here, let us all sit.” Whatever this is, it cannot end quickly enough.

Lord Arryn, after one look directed at her brother and Robert, moves to sit in the chair directly in front of Elia’s with a polite nod in the older woman’s direction. Prince Oberyn silently moves to sit next to his sister, but, his seat is directly in front of Lyanna’s. She is only slightly relieved Ser Gerold claims the seat next to her. However, when Ned and Robert take seats flanking Lord Arryn she catches the polite smile on Elia’s face and the relatively more relaxed stances in the others, her apprehension rises. 

Lord Arryn was the one who called for the banners on Ned’s and Robert’s behalf. Lyanna knew the both of them respected and loved their foster-father and he will be speaking for them. Elia was going to address the placement of her child. Would Ned defer to Lord Arryn in that as well? Robert would be pleased Rhaegar’s child was away from him. That would be the result whether her child was in King’s Landing or Winterfell.

Thinking about that, she closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them she glances about the table and registers the Hand sitting next to Prince Oberyn, with Maester next to him. In between the Master and Ned sat the Commander of the City Watch. Ser Arthur sat on Ser Gerold’s other side and between Ser Arthur and Robert was Ser Jaime.

Elia sits with her hands folded loosely in front of her. If Lyanna did not know better she would have thought the other woman was calm. She is not.

Elia speaks first. “First, my lords and my lady, I thank you for your consent to be here today. I know that this was not an easy choice for any of us; however, we must move forward from the calamity which befell us all. The realm is ravaged by war, but, we are here and I am of the belief that we have been given an opportunity we can ill afford to waste.” How sweet that sounds, but, Lyanna knew that dreams, no matter how sweet, can sour. Elia continues, “It is because we are here that it becomes our duty to see what was torn apart rebuilt and there is no better or sooner time.”

Lyanna did not think she imagined the stress Elia put on ‘we’ or the approval, or what passed for it, on the Hand’s face and the growing awareness on Ser Gerold’s. Belatedly she recognizes Aerys being dead is the opportunity that Elia was speaking of! Lyanna sees Elia shift her gaze so that it rests on both Ned and Lord Arryn. “Lord Stark and Lord Arryn what had occurred cannot be remedied; that death cannot be undone and the tragedies which befell your kin cannot and will not be erased or ignored. On behalf of the house Targaryen, I wish to formally apologize for the indignities and losses suffered by you at the hands of members of my house.”

Lyanna is appalled. No one should have to apologize for someone else’s actions; but, that is what she is seeing. The reactions of the others almost caused her to wish she never came here. She saw how Ned’s and Lord Arryn’s grief and mourning twisted their faces before they took attempts to school their expressions, but Lord Arryn looked appreciative. Robert looked darkly smug. Oberyn Martell’s face is blank and that is more troubling than his showing anger. Why let his sister do this?

The answer comes to her after Lord Arryn speaks. “Thank you, my Princess. You are correct; we have seen things which none of us should ever have and it is my hope we never will again. Peace must be restored.” Lord Arryn straightens and everyone tenses when he continues, “But, words are not enough.”

Elia inclines her head in acknowledgement, but, not in offence. Lyanna shivers; but, does not know why. “I agree Lord Arryn. We must be reconciled and to at least attempt to mend what was broken between us all. Lord Arryn, first, I offer to you the position of Master of Laws on my son’s council.” 

At first Lyanna thought it curious at the lack of surprise from others; but, then she knew the thought was foolish. No doubt all of them examined the possibilities of what was to come. If nothing else, a seat on the council would be in the offering. 

A nod and a reply of, “I accept, my Princess”, follows.

The lack of enthusiasm did not stop Elia from smiling politely. Lyanna saw no purpose in it. “Thank you, Lord Arryn. I am grateful for your acceptance. Know that I do value and welcome your insight and experience. That is what I am hoping for with what I intend to ask you now.”

Ned straightens and Robert leans forward while Lord Arryn questions, “What would you ask of me?” Lyanna fights back the urge to yell at them to get on with this farce.

“My Lord Arryn, it is my hope that you would consent to foster Prince Viserys when he is returned to King’s Landing.” No reaction from the Hand, Prince Oberyn, or Ser Gerold; but, there was surprise from Lord Arryn, curiosity from Robert, and suspicion from Ned. Lyanna's suspicions have only grown. 

“What of the Queen Dowager? Certainly she has an opinion.” Lyanna bites back her frustration at the lack of refusal.

“The Queen Dowager agrees with me. Thankfully, the former King’s involvement in Prince Viserys was limited, but, both the Queen Dowager and I would have him taught well. Lord Arryn, your ability in this matter cannot be denied or questioned.” 

Then, Lyanna knew Lord Arryn would accept. Who among them would not wish to erase any possible taint left by the Mad King? With both Ned and Robert, both his foster sons, at the table there were not many who could say honorable Lord Arryn was not an appropriate choice to want to foster their fatherless son; after all, he was a man who took his duties so seriously he went to war for his charges. Lord Arryn was the one who required more than words and he got more than words in the form of the son of a king. 

“I accept.” 

Lyanna almost bites her lip in frustration when Elia continues, “That is not all I wish to speak about or offer.” Lyanna follows her eyes and almost scoffs. Ned would not agree to take a council seat in exchange for a member of their family. But, then Elia shifts her gaze to Robert and Lyanna just fights the urge to hold her stomach at Robert’s expression. The mere prospect of Elia offering Robert, who killed Rhaegar and who hates even Targaryen children, anything was horrifying. Judging by the expression on Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold’s faces, they think the same, but, neither _objected_. 

“Should he accept, I propose Lord Stannis Baratheon be Master of Ships.” Lord Tywin’s and Prince Oberyn’s faces are impassive. The others are disturbingly _pensive_.

Before Lyanna can even think of the reason why that was offered, Lord Arryn looks at Robert who just narrows his eyes and then towards the other end of the table to exclaim, “Is not Lord Stannis too young?” Again, that was not a refusal from Lord Arryn; but, Robert does not refuse on his brother’s behalf, either. Ned says nothing.

Prince Oberyn looks towards Robert and not Lord Arryn when he says, “If your brother is of an age to be responsible for Storm’s End in times of peace and hold it in times of war he is of an age to be a member of the Small Council.” 

Robert’s voice is a growl and Lyanna sees Ser Jaime’s sword-hand twitch, “He would not have had to hold Storm’s End if you or that dragon-filth had not taken what was mine or killed our kin!”

_How dare Robert! She was not his anything yet and it was not his family who died!_

She opens her mouth to tell him just that, but, Prince Oberyn’s voice, little more than a hiss, interrupts again. “Lord Stannis would not have had to hold Storm’s End if you had been there to hold it yourself, but, I know the necessities of war. However, my lord, remember that no Martell or child was responsible for the Mad King’s or his son’s actions before or after. As for kin, I know Prince Rhaegar forgot what that means, but, it does not become a grandson of a Targaryen to call anyone else dragon-filth.”

Prince Oberyn looks at Robert blankly while a furious Robert, with Lord Arryn clutching his wrist, spits, “Do not comp–”

Elia cuts in, with her eyes fixed on Robert and her hand wrapped around her brother’s, “Blame the former King’s or Crown Prince’s all you wish, my lord. That said I, the Queen Dowager, and our children did not endorse, support, or are responsible for they had wrought. It is true, what was done was beyond propriety; but, it cannot be undone no matter how much we wish it. We can only move forward however we are able. I mean to do that.” 

Lyanna is almost sick when Robert, still furious looking, sits back, but, it takes most the strength she has to ignore how everyone but Elia and their brothers turn their gazes towards her. After a moment Elia speaks again, this time to the table at large. “Yes, Lord Stannis is young; but, youth does not invalidate one’s abilities or qualities. His presence will benefit the council and the realm as a whole. I would have men with a sense of duty and strength of character about the King.” Lyanna sees Ned frown while Robert and Lord Arryn seem engrossed and has to grip the table in front of her. Elia already offered Lord Arryn plenty and even if Robert received nothing directly he has benefited. 

The silence after that stretched for some time until Lord Arryn, his expression betraying his curiosity, asked, “How many other positions of this council are vacant?” That only makes Lyanna more uneasy.

This time the Hand spoke, “Just the post of Master of Whisperers and I believe the Princess Regent means to offer the position to Lord Lomas Estermont.”

Lyanna remembers where she heard the name Estermont: Robert’s maternal uncles. Robert and the Stormland’s would benefit again. Just how ingratiating could the other woman be to Ned?

This time, Robert asks gruffly, “Master of Coin?”

The Hand answered again. “Lord Garth Hightower.” The unexpected and relatively unfamiliar name took Lyanna aback; but, she noticed the looks shared between Ned, Robert, and Lord Arryn. The Hightowers were a family of the Reach and many in the Reach supported the Targaryen’s, but, why choose a Hightower and not a Tyrell?

She did not have to wait for long the answer. One look from Lord Arryn and Robert replies, “Ask my brother and my uncle yourself.”

“Of course.” This time there was no pretence of happiness, but, Lyanna senses the palpable sense of relief at Robert’s acquiescence and not just from Elia. 

Ser Gerold speaks next. “There is one other appointment needing to be discussed.” Lyanna saw how Ser Arthur sat forward and frowned slightly.

Elia follows, “Quite right, the Kingsguard needs one more knight worthy of the order. Any suggestion you may have would be helpful, however, I will leave the final judgment to Ser Gerold.” Ned shrugged. Lyanna was certain appointments to the Kingsguard were of no consequence to him, but, the approving expressions from the other men caused Lyanna to blanch.

After a look between himself, Ned, and Robert Lord Arryn calmly turned his gaze back to Elia. “My Princess, please give us leave to think on it.” 

“Of course.” Lyanna thinks her dread has only increased. 

“We have something else to discuss.” Lyanna tenses, knowing exactly what Ned wants to talk about; the only thing that matters to her. The tone of Ned’s voice causes them all to stiffen, except, Prince Oberyn, Lord Tywin, and Ser Jaime. She wonders why. 

“Yes, my Lord Stark, we do.” Elia glances about the table. “After Lady Lyanna gives birth, it is my intent to keep the Crown Prince’s child here in King’s Landing.” The use of titles and precedence would only emphasize the logic behind the action. 

Only the City Watch’s Commander is surprised and his gaze turns thoughtful quickly after. What worries Lyanna most is Robert’s _interested_ expression.

“No”. One word from her and everyone turn towards her sharply. Ned frowns in what she knows is worry and frustration. Robert now looks irate. Lord Tywin looked as though he trying to contain a sneer. The Maester looked disapproving. Oberyn Martell looked as though he was trying to prevent himself from laughing. She even felt Ser Gerold tense beside her. Elia and Ser Jaime looked at her in _sympathy_. This only makes her furious. 

“My lady objects?” That question comes from the disapproving Lord Tywin.

Ned sends her and Elia a look. “That is my sister’s child. My family belongs in Winterfell.”

Elia replies. “My children are to be family just as much. Brother and sister is closer kin than uncle. I would have them raised together.” Lyanna knew that, but, the rest did not. She begins to wonder if Elia would continue to have her way.

Ned narrows his eyes. “They may be, but, Prince Rhaegar is dead and you are not the child’s mother.” Lyanna almost shakes in fury when most of the table turns to Elia looking uncomfortable as if worried _she_ would take offence. 

“Prince Rhaegar was the former Crown Prince of Westeros. As such the child belongs to the crown and the crown is in King’s Landing. As you say, I am not this child’s mother, but, this child’s mother would also not be in Winterfell. I would not deny Lady Lyanna access to the child and writing and having Lady Lyanna see the child would be more easily done when the child stays in the south.” Lyanna feels the bile rise in her throat as all around her she sees agreement from most everyone except Ned. 

“The Princess Regent is correct. The child’s place is here.” Though she knew that would be his position, Lyanna barely stops herself from screaming at the Ser Gerold.

Ned argues, “The child would be best served by staying with me.” 

“I know my lord that you would take the greatest care with your niece or nephew, but, the child would be best served by knowing their brother and sister and their mother. The circumstances being what they are, the child is best served in King’s Landing, at least for now.”

Robert’s impatient reply comes after, “Damn it all, Ned! If they want it, let them keep it! If Lyanna wants to see it, then, I will not stop her.” Lyanna’s eyes widen as she looks at Robert. _He thinks he is being kind!_

Ned’s face stiffens. Instead of responding to Robert, he turns towards Elia, “What do you mean when you said ‘for now’?” 

“Westeros has suffered a great tragedy and Winterfell was most certainly not immune and I am not certain Targaryen children would be received well currently, even with your best efforts which I know would be considerable. Rest assured Lord Stark, if my lady’s child is a boy-child, I will not deny a fostering in the North when the time comes. If a girl-child I will grant the same, if that remains Lady Lyanna and your wish.”

“You expect me to trust that.” The tension in the room rose further. 

This time, Elia did not smile. “I have done nothing for you to distrust me and I have not given anyone any reason to believe that I cannot be trusted, but, all I ask is that you allow me to prove that I can be. To begin with, you have my word that when Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna’s child reaches the age of ten, I will send Lady Lyanna’s child North. I would also bind our families together in marriage.” 

Lyanna froze as the words continued to spill from Elia’s mouth. “Lord Stark, I would give you my beloved daughter to be your son’s wife when he becomes of age.” 

“What?” Everyone turns towards her while Elia replies, “I will not marry my children to one another in the Targaryen fashion. I have arranged a marriage for my son, the King, and it is my duty to do no differently for my daughter.” _No one will have cause to doubt my sincerity._

Lord Arryn queries, “Your son’s marriage has been arranged?”

“Yes, Lord Arryn; to Lady Margaery Tyrell, the daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden.” Lyanna can only think bitterly that it makes sense. A seat on the council is a good reward for cooperation; having a daughter for a queen is a better one. 

“Is that the extent of it?” 

“No. The Queen Dowager is with child.”

As shocked as Lyanna is by that she is confused. She can see Ned is as well, when he prompts, “What of it?”

“If the child is a boy, Lord Stark, I would have him fostered with your good-father, Lord Hoster Tully. If the child is a girl child, I would have a betrothal set with his son, Lord Edmure.” Lyanna remembered Ned telling her about what it took for a reluctant Lord Hoster to risk treason once. Would Lord Hoster turn this opportunity away?

Ned’s expression is severe. “I would have some time to think on it.” 

“Of course, but, we would have your answer soon, Lord Stark.” 

Lyanna sees the glances focused towards Ned from those at the table. Lyanna knew what the others would choose if given the same choice Ned was. Then again, when the choice is between being stubborn about your sister’s bastard child or the peace and stability of a realm with gaining leverage in the new regime and when you would get the bastard eventually, was it that much of a choice?


	7. Jaime

As Jaime jumps to clean the ink off of his white cloak, his eyes catch the letter to Cersei now splattered with ink. He is grateful he has the sense not to put much stock in omens. Even if their love had been acceptable for all, kingslayers are the worst type of oathbreaker; no matter if the king in question had been a monster. Had he been a different man, he would have wondered if he should expect godly punishment to come his way. 

Finished dabbing at his cloak, he wants to shake himself for thinking like a fool. Ink washes off. The same happened to Aerys’ blood. He is still here. He burns the letter after righting the fallen ink bottle. If he could write one, he’ll write another.

Though he knows he is not on duty until this evening, he feels compelled to don another white cloak. When he finishes the new letter he steps outside of his sleeping cell.

Before he gets to the rookery, he is greeted with the sight of his uncle and his uncle’s squire in conversation. 

“Uncle?” Uncle Kevan waves away his squire. Something of a smile, or as much of one a Lannister would allow, graces the face that resembles his father.

“Ah, Jaime, good, I was just coming to see you.”

Jaime’s brows knit together in confusion. “About what, Uncle? Is something the matter?” 

“I am leaving for Casterly Rock in the morning.”

He blinks in surprise. “So soon, Uncle?”

His uncle nodded. “Now that things are in the process of settling themselves and the road reasonably clear, I am going back to Casterly Rock. I have been away for far too long...” Judging by the slight wistfulness in the tone, Jaime knew his uncle was thinking about his lady-wife. In remembering the sweet woman Jaime almost misses the rest of his uncle’s statement. “Of course, I will return soon enough with your sister-”

He interrupted, “Father is sending for Cersei?” The smile on Jaime’s face froze at the next words which flew out of his uncle’s mouth.

“Yes, so Oberyn Martell and she can get reacquainted.” 

He nearly snarled and he took a breath to calm himself, even as his suspicions grew. “What? Why?”

“Your lord-father has decided your sister is of age to be married and has decided to wed her to Oberyn Martell. It is as good choice as any.” Jaime almost lets out a strangled laugh looking at the earnest expression on his uncle’s face. Of course, very few would gainsay Tywin Lannister, and Kevan Lannister, who worshipped his older brother, rarely, if ever, did. 

What little joviality he had evaporated completely. “Where is father? In his Solar?” 

Jaime could not control the growl in his voice, but, he ignores the look his uncle gives him. “Yes. I believe he is still there.” 

Jaime takes another calming breath before he speaks; “Thank you, Uncle.” 

He turns to go, but, his uncle calls out, “Jaime.” 

Jaime frowns. “Yes, Uncle?” 

Had he been anyone else but a Lannister he would have missed the disapproval in his uncle’s face. “No doubt this comes to you as a shock, after all, you and your sister were quite close as children, but, neither of you have been children for many years. Though your vows prevent you from taking a wife, dear Cersei is not meant for a life of a Septa. She will have to be married to someone. It is better to marry her to someone we know.”

Jaime remains standing, knowing his uncle has more to say. His uncle steps closer to him and his voice softens, “I know that Oberyn Martell is not the husband your father had wanted for your sister, however, seeing the results of the match he had wanted, perhaps, it is just as well that did not occur. Still, had Joanna still been with us, this marriage would have happened long before now.” They were Lannisters and so Jaime knew Uncle Kevan refrained from ending with a plea of ‘just accept it’.

Jaime clenches his jaw. It was cruel of his uncle to remind him of his mother, for this of all things, though he knows the words to be true. While the very thought of Cersei marrying Oberyn Martell, or anyone truly, infuriates him, he prepares to leave, knowing he will get no help from this quarter. 

He nods, “I know, Uncle. I will come to see you off tomorrow”. He turns to leave almost immediately after getting his uncle’s acknowledgment. 

Even though he knew it was a rare thing for his father to change his mind once he decided on a course of action, Cersei was his and he was hers. He would not give her up; not like _this _.__

* * *

He arrives at the Tower of the Hand far more quickly than he ever imagined he could. Before he knocks he squares his shoulder and schools his expression into one as blank as he could make it. His ire only increases when his father takes one look at his cloak and tells him to keep it brief as he intends to meet with the new Master of Laws.

Distractedly he asks, “Why are you meeting with Lord Arryn?” 

His father’s jaw tightens. Jaime realizes that it was not the task which bothered his father, but, rather Jaime’s questioning it. That does little to temper his emotions. 

“There is no shortage of responsibilities for a king or queen, or in this situation, a Regent. That is why there is an office of the Hand of the King. The Master of Laws is new to his office. Obviously she knows the general state of things, but, the Princess Regent and I have long discussed, at length, the expected parameters of our respective responsibilities.”

Jaime almost laughs, thinking ‘of course they have’. “What? She gets to play Ruler while you make the important decisions.” 

His father gives him a measured response. “I have instructed many individuals and overseen a great many number of things and she has been Regent nowhere nearly as long as I have been the Hand of the King. I have no doubt she could sentence someone to death when it comes to matters of the King’s justice; however, there are some things a lady has no business doing unless necessary. Inspecting the barracks and training of the City Watch is one of those things.” 

Jaime fights back the frown at the pointed look. He focuses on the true reason he was there. “What is this about Cersei marrying Oberyn Martell?”

His father looks more irritated. “Your sister cannot remain unmarried.” Is that is all?

“Why Oberyn Martell?” Why anyone? “Does the Princess Regent know about this?” Maybe he could speak to her, perhaps convince her that the match would not work. It cannot work.

“Oberyn Martell requested Cersei’s hand with his brother’s blessings and his sister’s knowledge; as I expected he would.” Jaime stiffened at the offhand tone; perhaps not. 

“You expected this? Why would the Dornish want this match?” His voice is sharp in his hysteria while his frenzied mind tries to make sense of this.

He had not been aware this was even a possibility. Before this day, his uncle, his father, nor Oberyn Martell had said anything to him. _Elia_ had not said anything about this travesty to him. 

He chances a look at his father. To steady himself, he takes a calming breath. Jaime has to bite his tongue remembering the intent way his father had studied Oberyn Martell upon his arrival at King’s Landing and every instance of the Dornishman sitting with his father at meals, even that grim meeting with the former rebel lords. Elia and his father spent hours with one another, making plans and negotiating for this and that, even with the former enemy; why not do this?

He is furious with himself. He was the one who decided to keep out of such things. He meddled once before, broke his vows before, because he had to and now it seemed the price of not doing it again was Cersei.

“Jaime, I should not have to tell you there was talk about marrying Cersei to Prince Oberyn once before. The match has become even more logical now.” 

Jaime narrows his eyes, but, his voice is desperate. “The match also fell through before.” No matter how true his uncle’s words about his mother’s desire for the match were, Jaime remembered his father quite thoroughly refused it after her death. Certainly, too much had not changed to make the match acceptable now?

His father just looks at him. “Jaime, you are better than this.” Even in anger, Jaime tries to stop himself flinching at the all too familiar tone. He does not react when his father sneers, “Was it not you who argued against marrying her to Robert Baratheon? Even if he does beg anyone who will listen to help him put the Stark girl aside, which, as you were correct, he is not doing, Cersei needs to marry. Why should she not marry the uncle to the boy-king that you crowned? Or have you somehow come to the conclusion that the family of the Princess Regent, who you are so eager to guard, would treat Cersei badly? Is there anyone else you would rather she married?”

He fights to stop himself from running a hand through his hair and showing his father how high his tension has flares. “That has nothing to do with it.”

His father puts down the quill he holds and stares at him with a look that forces Jaime to once again remember his youth. “If I had my way, Cersei would have been married long before now. I will not let this opportunity slip.” Jaime’s frustration rises and he feels a throbbing in his head matching the one in his heart. 

His father continues, not expecting a response. “Oberyn Martell is the best possible match for her and one which gives our family an advantage in this regime.”

Jaime tries to force his voice to be level, “You would give Cersei to someone for an advantage? How is Oberyn Martell an advantageous match? He is a second son, is he not?” 

His father purses his lips tightly. When he speaks his voice is low enough that Jaime leans forward without even thinking about it. “I was Hand of the King for twenty years and Aerys had not only refused me, but, tried to debase me when I approached him about marrying Cersei to his son. Rhaegar’s widow has proven to have more sense than that. Though she has no other son or daughter to give me, she has a brother. You are correct, it is not precisely an ideal match what with his being a second son with bastards, but, everyone knows Dornish are odd about bastards. I can hardly count taking responsibility for one’s less than desirable children as a mark against him and Prince Oberyn intimated to me he has no intention of legitimizing any of the others. I see no reason for him to lie to me on that score. He is far more palatable than the other options.” His father spit out the word, ‘options’ as though it was not an appropriate word, but, it was the only one he could find.

“Palatable?” Has his father gone mad that ‘palatable’ is to be good enough for Cersei?

“Yes, palatable. He has a noble lineage and is uncle to the anointed king. Even at his age, he is a man also not to be trifled with. I know he has pride and is capable of anger, but, he can be reasoned with. It is obvious to anyone who can see that he is very loyal to family. He is intelligent and erudite enough for your sister. Of course, your sister would hardly think him unsightly.” His father ends, “What more could she possibly need?” 

Jaime thinks, ‘What more does she need?’ Love. His sister would need love; his love. He remembered, even when they believed Cersei would be a good match for Prince Rhaegar, Cersei still wanted him. She still does. But, he knew his father would not accept that for an answer no more than anyone would accept them being together. 

“Jaime, I say this because you are my son, but, you above all should know that I make no decision lightly. This is the best possible match for Cersei.”

“How?” He knows his father had sneered at the Dornish and their ways, yet, now he does not seem to mind that in the least. Palatable was hardly a ringing endorsement.

“Cersei is a Lannister of Casterly Rock. If she could not get a king, then she deserves a husband from a Great House. It is true that the King has another uncle, but, Prince Viserys is a boy who will also not inherit. Amongst our new “allies” Mace Tyrell has no available brothers or sons who are of an age to be married. Balon Greyjoy’s brothers and sons remained neutral, but, pirates for my daughter? Certainly not. There are more potential matches from those who rebelled, but, if you wish to know why I rather not approach other Lord Paramounts to arrange Cersei a marriage in their families, listen well. Stannis Baratheon is also a second son. Even if his temperament suited your sister and I do not know it for a fact, I would not give Cersei to a house where the likes of Lyanna Stark would take precedence over her. Jon Arryn has no heir of his own body or one of an age to be married. Would you find it acceptable that she become Hoster Tully’s second wife? Even if Tully’s son was available, which, we both are aware he is not, he is also a child. Also unavailable now is Hoster Tully’s brother who never desired marriage. Benjen Stark of Winterfell, also a second son, is too young and I would rather take a Dornishman I know than a Northman I do not. Or, would you rather she married one of our cousins?”

His father ends with a question; the answer, they both know is ‘No’. He would rather Cersei not marry anyone, but, he can see no flaw in his father’s arguments and his father knows it. Before he can think of anything to say, Jaime sees the change in the set of his father’s shoulders. 

When his father speaks again he begins, “Jaime” and their eyes meet. “You were at the meeting the Princess Regent had with Lord Stark and Lord Arryn.” He is taken aback by the change in subject. His father continues, “You know what was discussed.” 

As if by rote, he starts, “This meeting was to negotiate a continued peace; a reconciliation between both sides of the war.” 

“Yes and certainly what those specific negotiations entailed.” It was a statement; however Jaime knew his father required an answer.

His voice is flat. “The Princess Regent offered seats on the small council and for suggestions to have someone of their ilk a member of the Kingsguard.”

“You knew that was not going to be the extent of the negotiations.” 

“Of course, not.” He could not help snap back slightly at the question that was not a question. What was the point his father was getting at?

His father pressed his lips together before asking, “Good; what else?”

“The intent was to keep Prince Rhaegar’s child here.” He manages that with gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you recognize the advantage in that.” Treat someone with kindness and it usually is returned with appreciation and loyalty. What does that have to do with Cersei?

“Ned Stark was not going to simply let Elia Martell, of all people, have his sister’s child.”

“No.” He turns his head away from his father in frustration. Was the point of this exercise to show him how foolish he is being?

“Well, she managed it.” Jaime frowns at the slight pride in his father’s voice. Of course his father would take pride in other people’s children when they have some success he had a hand in. 

A clipped, “I was there and it was not as though she managed it alone”, falls from his lips.

What others call his father’s glare is leveled at him. “You are my son, Jaime, but, that does not mean I will excuse everything you do or say and I make no allowances for immaturity or mulishness.” 

Jaime fights a grimace. He is well aware of how exacting his father is and of how much of a disappointment his father finds him to be. “Even if you are correct in the way she took my advice and that of your superior...” There was no mistaking his father’s distaste at the reminder of his being Kingsguard. His father ended, “Most of the terms were hers and the words came from her lips, did they not?”

He will not argue his father on that point. Jaime takes a breath, “What does it matter that she managed it?”

He is graced with another disappointed look. “Everything matters. Aside from offering positions of some influence, now including the remaining spot on the Kingsguard for Ser Brynden Tully, she managed it by arranging marriages for her own children and arrangements for the other Targaryen children with the Targaryen’s chief ally and former rebel lords.”

Jaime knew things wrapped up very nicely for both sides of the war; but, none of it matters when this was about Cersei; but then, for his father, the matter of his children was never entirely about his children. 

“What does that have to do with us?”

His father’s eyes flash. He gestures around the room. “I supported this, at your behest. Did you think I was going to do it without getting something for it except this bauble?” His father points to the pendant around his neck. Jaime almost laughed at the thought of men like his father taking such things as their due.

“A marriage for your daughter is that something?” Even as he says it, he senses that is exactly what his father had wanted him to understand.

His father looks up at him, but, it does not give him the impression of an exalted position. The censure in his father’s voice is thick, “Offering peace terms to the former rebels was necessary and the Tyrells had given her husband’s family aid and they gave it first. They have expectations and she met them. I encouraged her choices, but, my support must mean something. Circumstances being what they are will not prevent me from seeking any advantage where I can find one. Marrying Cersei to Oberyn Martell is one of the very few opportunities available to me currently. Had I believed Elia Martell still capable of bearing children, do not think for one moment that I would not have encouraged her to take you as a husband once she would have officially finished her mourning. Should she marry again, her new husband would have influence over the boy and because you are my eldest it should have been you who furthers our family’s legacy; however, that is not to be so.”

Jaime’s mind reels. However, his father is not done with ‘instructing’ him. “You insist on wearing that cloak and deny me a proper heir. Tyrion, afflicted as he is, is a Lannister and my only other son. Though I dislike it very much, he will inherit after me. Disinheriting him would likely prove more problematic than it should and so it is my duty to find him a bride to ensure the continuation of my line. Doran Martell will not give me his girl as a good-daughter and they have more sense than to offer a bastard girl of Oberyn Martell’s as a good-daughter to me. Lord and Lady Dayne, bannermen to the Martells, have a young enough daughter and a willingness to entertain the idea of giving her to a dwarf in marriage provided their daughter would be the future Lady of Casterly Rock. That is far more convenient than my scouring other Southron houses and a Lannister does not beg. If that match does not work, there are other unconventional Dornish noble houses just as willing. But, you know as well as I do, a friend to the family is not the family.”

Jaime barely restrains himself from cringing. His hands are clenched at his sides. The pain in his head is sharp. He is disgusted at his father’s attitude towards Tyrion; yet, he is unsurprised at it. He is also equally unsurprised that his father would blame him for it all.

He glances at his stern-faced father once more and he swallows. No matter how angry he could get, no matter how many arguments he could think of, he knows a lost battle when he sees one. 

His jaw clenches once more. “Very well, Father.”

His father looks at him. “Good. I know you have reservations, as do I, but, I believe this is best for us all.”

He will not dignify that with another response. “I will leave you to your work.”

His father looks at him once more and nods. “Close the door as you go.”

At the dismissal he wants to slam the door behind him, but, does not. It would only give his father more to use against him. 

In the empty hallway Jaime pauses takes another breath and he pulls out the letter. It crinkles when he clenches it tightly. He knew his father could change course, but, once again, his father proves it is a circumstance just as rare as others believe it is. 

He narrows his eyes remembering what his father said. Oberyn Martell may have approached him and though Doran Martell mattered more, Elia knew. She should have said something. Jaime grimaced remembering she arranged the marriages for her children. Though they shared enough, Cersei was not hers to give away.

* * *

Ser Oswell was standing guard outside chambers that used to be Prince Rhaegar’s and now were his widow’s. Jaime’s face twists into a grimace as he takes in the sight of Oberyn Martell poking his head out of doorway he means to enter. 

Seeing him, the Dornishman exclaims, “Ah, Ser Jaime, I was coming to see you.” Jaime almost laughed in his face. _Now, he wants to see him?_

Ser Oswell looks between them confusedly while he snaps, “Yes, well. I wish to speak to your sister; alone.” 

Jaime ignores the way Ser Oswell frowns at him, but, Oberyn Martell, calmly, if distractedly asks, “Can this keep until later?” 

Jaime thinks, ‘No, it will not keep’. “I need to speak to her as soon as possible.” 

At odd look shared by Prince Oberyn and his ‘brother’ he registered the informal way he spoke about Elia, but, neither man chooses not to comment on it. “Is this related to her duties or yours?”

Jaime does not bother restraining his glare or his tone. “No.”

Oberyn Martell huffs out a breath. He gestures towards the door, “Join me inside. Keep your voice down.”

Jaime does not have the time to wonder at the strange instructions, because when the door closes, the slightly older man says, “My sister is not here, is it something urgent?”

Jaime has no patience for any games. “Where is she?”

Oberyn gets this frustrated look on his face as he looks towards the slightly open door leading to the bedroom. He hisses, “Did I just not tell you to keep your voice down? The children are in the next room resting. They do not need your disturbing them.”

He lowers his voice. “Very well. Where is she?”

The other man looks at him with narrowed eyes. “This had better be important if you want to disturb my sister so badly.”

He takes a breath. “I am not in the habit of disturbing anyone with unimportant things. Answer the question, please.” He adds the last word almost reluctantly.

The other man glances towards the door again. “The crypt.” The words are frustrated and angry. 

He blurts out, “What? Why?” Why would she be there? Why would she want to be? He was not that familiar with Dornish ways and the Targaryens’ seemed to be a law unto their own, but, Elia Martell never shown much interest in the macabre.

“She went to see his remains.” Jaime nearly winces in sympathy. Even if Jaime was blissfully ignorant of what Elia thought of Aerys, the disgust in the Dornishman’s voice told him exactly whose remains Elia went to go see and they were not the former king's. 

The man spits out the next words and Jaime remembers his father’s remark about the sagacity of not trifling with this man, “That pack of vultures masquerading as lords has been nothing but problematic for her…”

Even if Jaime was not angry about Cersei’s impending marriage, knowing how protective the other man could be about his own sister, and he almost lurches at that thought, he decides to cut the tirade short. “What does that have to do with why she is at the crypt? And you let her go alone?” 

The expression marring the man’s face is as ugly Jaime had seen when the man had first taken in the sights of Lords Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark. “Your Lord Commander is with her. She said she would rather that I stay with my niece and nephew while she pays her respects.” Jaime had no illusions about what the other man thought of that. 

Instead he ventures. “How long has she gone?” 

He gets a suspicious look in response. “What is it to you?”

Despite the situation Jaime rolls his eyes. Jaime knows the other man caught his reaction, but, the other man ignores it. Instead, Oberyn Martell hisses, “She has not been keeping well. The entire kingdom’s eyes are upon her, now more than ever. In between her duties and the children, and that cabal masquerading as nobility still here, she takes too much upon herself. She has no need to be surrounded by yet another reminder of that dead fool.”

Jaime does not know whether to laugh or sigh. He should have expected this. He has been with her since the debacle at Harrenhal and through the war and he will be here even after Oberyn Martell leaves. Oberyn Martell does not need to tell him how draining this entire affair has been or will continue to be for anyone, especially for Elia. He remembers the last time he had seen Prince Rhaegar with his wife. Though they made a restrained show of it, as a member of the Kingsguard, Jaime knew their last parting was not exactly done under the best of circumstances. Even then, it was expected that a widow did such things.

Jaime had not realized he said that aloud, but, if such a thing had been possible, Oberyn Martell looked more furious. Silence descended between them until the dark-haired man spoke again. 

“Robert Baratheon came to see her today.”

His eyes widened. “What? Why? What did he say? What did he do?”

Oberyn Martell spoke through gritted teeth. “She was in her Solar reviewing account books when he barreled his way in and, amongst other things, demanded to know why she was keeping him from the girl.” Jaime nearly groaned at the antics of the Stormlord. 

The older man continued, “That fool’s blustering is the last thing my sister needs.” 

Jaime understood the other man’s frustrations, but, a different sort of dread fills him. “Where is he now?”

“The last I was informed, back in his quarters”, the terse reply came. 

Jaime grimaced; not wanting to ask; but, he needed to know, “Unharmed?”

His answer is a frustrated noise and a stance which showed Jaime a man who desired to have a weapon in his hand with the one end passing through someone else. “My sister was adamant that I do nothing lest circumstances escalate things in ways which would prove unfavorable. She said something about Jon Arryn. Perhaps he will be able to control his erstwhile charge.” Jaime could almost see the promise of ‘Or I will’ in the man’s expression. 

When Jaime does not say anything more Oberyn Martell tilts his head to the side; studying him. “But, you are not here to speak to my sister of Robert Baratheon or Jon Arryn.” Jaime heard the unvoiced, ‘You should not be here for that.’

“I found out from my uncle that you are to marry my sister. My father confirmed it and now you. I want to know why she did not tell me.”

Jaime could almost see the way the man puts his anger at other things aside for the moment. “My brother is my liege-lord and your father, your sister’s. They deemed it an appropriate match and it goes forward.” The other man takes a step towards him, his voice deceptively soft. “Why do you think my sister would tell you anything at all?”

He stands where he is. “She knew. She should have told me.”

Eyes so narrow they could be called slits look back at him. “Why does it matter? Even if we are to be family now, certainly you have not become so familiar with my sister that you expect things when you are just one member of her son’s Kingsguard.”

“I do not always act like just a member of the Kingsguard.” The moment the words leave his mouth he curses himself.

A dark, humorless smirk is leveled at him. “I am aware; but, you speak as though that should allow for differences.”

Dread fills him even as he squares his shoulders. “What exactly are you aware of?” 

The dark-haired man sneers at him. “Now, it is you who would play games? Of course, I _know_.”

He blurts out, “How?” even as he curses his stupidity.

A bland smile is leveled at him. “Even if my sister and I have secrets between us, Aerys was burned, not you, my sister, or her children. I am not a fool, but, if you are asking if I weep over it or hold it against you, I do not.”

Jaime blanched. This time he keeps his voice low without being prompted. “She told you everything? Why have you not said anything? Who else knows?”

The dark-haired man scoffs. “Of course, she told me, but, even if she had not, I have been looking for that madman’s wildfire; just like you. There was no need to tell you or worry you on that score. No one else needs to know.” A moment of silence passes, “I am rather envious of you and grateful to you.”

That surprises and confuses him. Gratitude, he could understand. “Envious?”

“Robert Baratheon…” Oberyn’s voice dripped disdain, “robbed me of one opportunity to defend my sister’s honor and it seems he intends to eradicate whatever good-will I have for him by trying my patience. However, you killed one man intending to do true harm to my sister and her children.” The Dornishman’s face hardens. “But, I would rather not talk about Aerys Targaryen, either. Now, what is this truly about?”

Jaime’s tone is equally hard. “I do not want _you_ to marry my sister.”

He is met with amusement. “You disapprove?” 

Jaime wants to wipe it off the man’s smirk with his bare hands. “Why would I want you to be my sister’s husband?” He wants no husband for his sister, but, the other man does not need to know that.

Instead of taking offence, Oberyn Martell just laughs softly. “Whatever low opinion you may have, I have given you no reason to think that badly of me.”

Jaime scowls, thinking, ‘Does he believe this is some sort of joke?’ “My father tells me you approached him. It certainly does not seem as though you want to marry my sister, if this is the best you can do.”

The other man’s expression softens. “True, I approached your father. Therefore, I do not dislike the idea, but, if we are to be honest with one another, I simply see the merits of this marriage. Your father agrees with me.”

Jaime takes a step forward anger flaring once more. “What do you mean by that?”

A somewhat fond look flashes on the man’s face. “Our lady-mothers were friends; I should like to think that they would have been happy that there was at least one marriage between our houses, despite that it took this long and a war to manage it.”

Jaime bared his teeth. Who was this man to talk of his mother? He barked. “That is not the true reason.”

The other man smirked. “There are many. For our purposes, I will give you three: your father, your sister, and my sister.”

Unwanted, his father’s words flood his memory. “My father?”

Jaime thinks the other man almost looks through him. “I remember visiting Casterly Rock quite clearly.”

Jaime almost winces. The Martells had arrived in Casterly Rock in less than auspicious circumstances and his father’s “hospitality” could have been called anything but. Still, now, that does not stop him from stepping closer to the man, almost challenging. “This is about revenge?”

The other man snorted. “Hardly, though, there is beauty to such things.” An easy shrug of the shoulder accompanies more words, “Your father provided my sister aid in her time of true need and we both know that your father would not have done so without the intension of gaining something in return. Why not a marriage?”

Jaime nearly frowns at the words so similar to his father’s. “You also said something of my sister.”

“Is she still the same as she was?”

Jaime glares at him. The dark haired man smiles back. “It is a simple question, but, I will explain. If I remember Casterly Rock then I remember your sister. Beautiful, even though only nine nameday’s passed. But, what I remember most was her fierce temper and the way she disliked your brother. Has she softened any?” 

Jaime’s anger burns brighter while he tries to not to sigh in resignation. Cersei had not warmed to Tyrion, even now. Before he can stop himself he says, “If you remember my sister having such flaws, why would you want to marry her?” The moment he thinks it Jaime is ashamed for even thinking badly of Cersei, even if it was to dissuade the other man from marrying her.

A lip curled in disdain begins, “Despite Harrenhal…” the expression smoothes, “I remember your sister had grown only lovelier. Who is not fond of beauty?”

Jaime only just refrains from keeping his hand away from the hilt of the sword he wore. No one should be thinking about his Cersei’s beauty. 

Oberyn just goes on, “There are few amongst us who would enjoy spirit in their wives. Even if you do not like the match, she might simply like being my wife. Dorne would not bore her.”

Jaime hears the ‘I would not bore her’, though the other man does not say it. This time his hand clenches around the hilt of his sword. Seeing this, the other man, just smirks again, undisturbed. One moment later, the Dornishman’s smirk falls and he shakes his head. “My brother and my sister would see me happily wed. Even some Dornishmen would prefer that I settle on a wife, no matter who it was.” 

Even at the glib tone, Jaime grimaces flinches remembering the story of the former Lord Yronwood’s death, but, he holds his ground as the other man continues, “My brother married for love. As dear to me as she is, my good-sister is a woman of Norvos. So it must be a Westerosi bride for me. The daughter of Tywin Lannister makes for quite a wife. Of course, you know how these things are. My sister does not have much else to give your father that he would want. It is hardly a burden.” Jaime nearly retches at that.

He decides to attack. “You will not stay faithful.” This man had four children by four different women; one could hardly expect him not to stray. He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his mind reminding him of when they were young Cersei was still intending to be with him even though they all believed she would marry Prince Rhaegar. At the thought, he feels that stab of shame once again. 

Jaime’s response, to his surprise, is met with approval. “It speaks well of you to have doubts of me. However, at the risk of shocking your sensibilities, I would rather discuss any expectations the lady has with her, not her twin.”

Jaime narrows his eyes, his hand twitches to get to his weapon once more. “How dare you?”

Oberyn continues, “Spare me! She was bold even as a child. I doubt she keeps silent on matters which displease her now.” He wants to argue, but, Jaime has nothing to say to that.

He steps forward; his eyes reach Jaime’s and his voice is little more than a hiss. “I intend for this marriage to work. If that requires I desist sating my lusts outside of my marriage bed, it is no hardship when I consider the alternative.” 

The answer chills Jaime. “What alternative is that?”

There was no joy in Oberyn’s smile. “Ser Jaime, I would have peace and stability for my sister and for her children to grow and their children after that. I want the no less for my own children and my brother’s. I am not what your father wants in a good-son and I have no knowledge of what your sister may want, but, none of this is about what we truly want. What we wanted ceased to matter when Rhaegar and Aerys Targaryen did what they wanted. This is about the best we can hope for under the circumstances we are presented with. Because of that, this marriage, like the others proposed by my sister, will go forward.” 

There is a slight pause. “Only a fool would think nothing is gained without making sacrifices and I know you are no more a fool than I. For my family, for my sister, I will do anything that is required of me. I swore to your father I would take your sister to be my wife and I mean to keep my oath and keep it well. Impertinent as you may be, you protected my family and you continue to do so. I will not disregard that. I am asking that you trust me with your sister as I trust you with mine. You have my word as a Nymeros Martell of Sunspear and as a brother.”

Jaime hates Oberyn Martell. Only, Jaime does not know if he hates him for: being the one who gets to marry Cersei; the reminder of his vows; or because he believes him. 

Before he can leave Princess Rhaenys pokes her rest-mussed head out from the open bedroom door. As she makes her way towards her uncle she smiles at them both.

Before there was a sort of earnestness in the other man’s expression, now as Oberyn Martell picks up his niece, his mouth is a grim line. “I believe we are done here.”

Jaime simply says, “I suppose we are.” 

At that, Oberyn Martell grasps his wrist with his free hand and leans in to whisper, “Ser Jaime, I am sure my sister would happily discuss whatever concerns you may have, however, she is not to be troubled by more than absolutely necessary.”

Jaime does not respond to the threat, but, nearly flinches when Princess Rhaenys asks after her mother. Oberyn Martell, now seemingly amiable, volunteers him to go to Elia just as he considered not going. If seeing her was going to yield the same results as going to see his father and her brother have, he knows all he would get is more disappointment and a larger headache; but, the girl smiles at him. He does not want to cause her disappointment. 

When he shuts the door behind him he nearly groans seeing Ser Oswell’s frowning face. He wants no lecture from Ser Oswell or for his brother to go to Ser Gerold or their other ‘brothers’ about his behavior. “What was that about, Jaime? You were rather informal speaking to the brother of the Princess Regent.” Even though the other man looks almost embarrassed to be asking, Jaime hears the awe in his ‘brother’s’ tone. 

Jaime does not to hide his grimace. “I learned Prince Oberyn is to be my good-brother.”

It is some time before Ser Oswell formulates a response. “Oh? Your sister must be incredibly strong-willed.”

There was no lecture, but, an attempt at levity where Jaime cannot find any. All that comes out is, “She is.” He does not know if he will be strong enough to see his Cersei marry Oberyn Martell, but, he will have to see it.

The other man frowns. “You do not like it?” Jaime almost laughs. How could he? Cersei was his now, but, he was not with her and she would be Oberyn Martell’s no matter how many letters he could send or how much love he bears for her. 

When they were young he thought he could follow her to King’s Landing. He cannot follow her to Dorne; not now. The last time a betrothal was disrespected, war followed, and the betrothal was reformed. His broken vow to Aerys was a necessity. No one would excuse another disrespected betrothal or the breaking of his oaths for what most would see as lust for his sister. 

As difficult as his father’s words were to hear, they are easy to echo. “My sister’s marriage is for my father to decide. An heir to House Lannister might have the right to a voice an opinion, but, with this cloak I am not that.” 

Ser Oswell looks sympathetic and sounds less sure than he used to, but, his words are expectedly disappointing. “We of the Kingsguard do not have the luxury of choices; only duty and our oaths.” 

Still, what he says is not wrong. Jaime hates that most of all.

* * *

The Lord Commander guards the door leading to where the remains of cremated Targaryens rest in perpetuity. Elia must still be inside, then. The closer he gets, Jaime sees how uncomfortable the other man is in the place. Whatever the reason for it was, when the Lord Commander sees him, he gets a stern look. 

“Ser Jaime, I was not expecting you.” Jaime, once again, thinking it was a mistake to come here, wants to sigh at the politely phrased accusation. With the return of the other members of the Kingsguard, most of them so eager to prove themselves anew, he had not been assigned to guard the family often. He was supposed to be, as Oberyn Martell put it, just a Kingsguard; but, as he told the other man, he did not always act like it. If he had, Elia’s actions or inactions would not matter to him; nor would he have the right to demand answers of her. But, he here was.

“No, I am not; however, I wished to speak to the Princess Regent.”

Shock and suspicion mar the older man’s expression. Remembering Ser Barristan, he nearly laughs at the explanation his mind supplies; there is nothing to be jealous of. Despite his supposed ease with the remnants of the Royal Family, before this he never sought Elia out for anything. That Elia did not see fit to tell him of her brother’s marriage plans to his own sister is proof she, knowing about Aerys as she does, thinks of him as just a Kingsguard. 

His Lord Commander’s gruff voice pulls him from his thoughts. “What happened?”

At least, he has ready-made excuses. “I wanted to speak to the Princess about the news my father and Prince Oberyn had just relayed to me and, of course, to see how she was.” 

Ser Gerold’s features grew more suspicious. “Why would you need to see how she was?”

“Prince Oberyn informed me that Lord Baratheon was unceremonious in his effort to come see her.” 

Ser Gerold winced. “I see. She is well enough.” Jaime does not move.

Ser Gerold’s suspicion fades into curiosity. “What news?”

“My sister is to marry Prince Oberyn.” Once he heard it, that was all Jaime can think of, yet, he still manages to choke on the words every time.

The older man attempts a smile. Jaime receives a very awkward, “Ah, congratulations.” 

It only took Jaime a few moments to understand the resurgence of Ser Gerold’s discomfort. The relations between the Dornishman and the three members of the Kingsguard who were found at the Tower of Joy with Lady Lyanna were still strained. The Dornishman’s lack of amity was far more restrained than it initially had been; yet, only a lackwit would not know the love of his sister was the reason behind it. At that thought, bile rises in Jaime’s throat.

His answer is brief, “Yes, thank you.” Ser Gerold’s feelings towards the Dornishman aside, he would disapprove of any disparaging remarks of the boy-king’s family and Jaime did not need the Lord Commander’s disapproval in addition to his father’s and uncle’s. He coughed gesturing to the closed door. “Have you been here long?”

Ser Gerold frowns at his question. “Not too long.” Again he wonders why Elia would choose to be here, even once. He doubts she enjoys being surrounded by dead Targaryens. 

Jaime did not give the other man another moment to think before he goes on, “Lord Commander, I will escort the Princess back with me after she in done, in your stead.”

The older man hesitated, “That is unnecessary. You will begin your watch soon enough.” Had this been any other time, Ser Gerold’s response would have made Jaime smile, but, he has no reason to. 

“Think nothing of it, Lord Commander. Prince Oberyn requested that I personally escort her back. I will start my watch early. You have my solemn oath: Princess Elia will be safe with me as she always has been.” The Lord Commander’s jaw twitched and the grim expression told Jaime he won this argument. He knew he would.

Jaime felt little guilt in reminding the Lord Commander that he had been here to protect the family when others had not. Perhaps it was cruel of him to think, but, his ‘brother’s’ long since used their vows and oaths as shields from acting as they should: with Queen Rhaella; when Aerys burned men for little more than his amusement; and then using them to justify staying away while others fought in the war or were hostages to Aerys’ whims. There was honor in the Kingsguard, but, today, he does not feel too badly about using his vows as weapons. 

Ser Gerold sighed. “Very well, but, do not tarry for very long.”

Jaime offers only a slight bow of the head, “Yes, Lord Commander.” 

Though Ser Gerold hesitated leaving him, when he finally does, Jaime takes a breath of relief even though he was at something of a loss. No matter what he believed he could expect, Elia’s brother reminded him friendship bound none of them. Had he been just a Kingsguard, this place, the crypt of the family he served would not a place for him to enter at will. His shoulders square; today, like that day with Aerys, he is not just a Kingsguard. 

Despite the torches lining the walls, the room is cold. Jaime finds his quarry sitting in a chair, sitting so very still, with her gaze trained upon where Jaime knows her husband’s remains are. She does not turn around and he wonders if she had not heard him enter. He is angry at that. Aerys had trusted he was safe. She was not Aerys and she saw what happened to him. She should know better. 

As if she can read his thoughts she turns. He is too far to see her reaction. He steps closer and she stands with her hands clasped together; a familiar gesture. “I apologize. I had not known I was here for so long that Ser Gerold would send you in here to collect me.”

Jaime does not want an apology from her for that. “Ser Gerold is gone and I doubt he would send anyone to collect you. No one could dream of doing anything to the Regent of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

He is close enough to see her eyes widen. He steps closer and even at something of a distance he can see the effort she takes to keep her voice measured. “Perhaps, but, if Ser Gerold did not send for you, why are you here?” 

Her eyes narrow; her voice turns sharp. “Has something happened to my children? My brother?” Fear flashes across her face though she schools herself quickly. Vaguely he thinks she has become better at that.

He holds up a hand, grimacing. Of course, those would be her thoughts. “I just came from your chambers. Your children are fine, as is your brother.” He ends grimly as she sags back into the chair in relief. He supposed she was what others see her as; a troubled, young widow. He does not want to remember it right now.

He continues, “Your brother promised your daughter that I would escort you back when you were done here, but, there is no need to return just yet.” 

She sounds incredulous. “‘Ser Gerold simply just left?”

“I swore that I would keep you safe. No one can deny I have before satisfactorily.”

She smiles, though it does not reach her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so.” Her attention returns to where her husband’s remains are. 

Jaime says nothing as he comes to stand next to where she sits. She seems composed once more; but, she is not. There is a slight tremor to her hands. Her face is grim. He is close enough to see a few small, odd splotches dotting the bodice of her gown. 

Of the all the things he had wanted to say before he entered the room, “You have been crying”, is not one of them; but, that is what falls from his lips.

Before he says something more she looks at him, almost embarrassed. “I had been, yes. It was a momentary lapse. As you can see, I am not crying now.” He nearly balks at the newly harsh edge to her voice.

Before the war, the only woman who cried he knew had been the current Queen Dowager and no one did anything about it. Now he was at a loss; even if the lady in question was, in fact, no longer crying. “Why?” There are too many ‘why’s’. 

She laughs; a hollow sound. “I was not expecting I would. It is unbecoming of ladies. That holds doubly true for lady-regents. I did not want to, but, it happened.” 

His focuses his eyes anywhere but her or the ornate urn containing the remains of her husband. Uncomfortably, he offers, “No one would think less of someone crying here, you are in mourning.”

Softly, as if she was speaking to herself, she says, “Wouldn’t they?” When their eyes lock, her voice is clear, “But, I was not crying because of that.” 

This time he tries to school his features. He wanted her to justify herself, but, not this. “What?”

“I mourn my husband, but, I was not crying because I do.” Her eyes close even as they turn back to her husband’s remains.

“What do you mean?”

It is quiet for sometime and Jaime thinks she would not answer until she does. “I began mourning his loss some time ago.” Jaime does not want to put to voice what he thinks she means. She continues, “I needed to be alone for a while. This was the only place I could go which would allow for it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

Clearly, it was not. Was there such a thing as being alone in a crypt? 

Once again, he failed to realize he spoke aloud. Her voice, sounding strangled, shocks Jaime as much as her words do. “My children are too young to bring here and my brother would not want to be. Even Ser Gerold did not hesitate to stay outside. Here I am surrounded by less than bones that do not talk back. This place carries no more memories than other places do. What can I think here I have not elsewhere at a different time?” 

Frowning, he bites his lip. “Then, why cry at all?”

She shrugs; an uneasy twitch of the shoulders. “I have not been keeping well. A great many things have been on my mind. It became too much, I suppose. It will not happen again.” 

Her words make him angry though his voice is flat. “What has been on your mind?” Not his sister. 

Jaime does not want to hear her burdens, but, if it gets him an explanation he will listen. She looks at him and sighs. “To start with, Varys has sent a letter.” 

He fights the urge to glare at her. “The Iron Bank troubles you?” 

She peers at him, assessing his interest. “No. He writes to me, ‘the rumors about griffins with the head the color of a Dornish sun have proven false’.”

What was that eunuch talking about? “Has Varys gone mad?”

She does not laugh. “No, Ser Jaime. He is also not nearly as intriguing as he believes he is. Jon Connington is alive.”

Jaime had forgotten about the former Hand. “Good news.” He frowns. “Why does that preoccupy you?” 

She looks at him in slight disappointment and he stiffens. “I plan on returning what Aerys took and Ronald Connington asked if I could make inquiries about his cousin’s body. He was a friend to my husband and was, _is_ , the Lord of Griffin’s Roost. He should return soon.”

“You mean, like the idea of one of Robert Baratheon’s bannermen disliking him more than they dislike you.”

An unashamed reply of, “It does make things rather convenient in some respects” followed. Jaime’s hand curls into a fist. She has plans for everything else, why not Jon Connington?

“Such does arranging marriages for people who have no say in where they go.”

It is an accusation and she took it as one. She stands up, eyes blazing. “I do not need you to tell me I sold my children.” 

Eyes wide, he steps back. “That is not what I-What do you mean you sold your children?” 

“What I mean? What did _you_ mean? You think I want to tie my son to that fool, Mace Tyrell or that I want to send my daughter to the Starks? I do not have the luxury of doing anything because I want to. The Reach, as bumbling as its support was, would expect nothing less than one of it’s daughters to be queen. It was either give my daughter to the Starks or marry her into Robert Baratheon’s house or bannermen loyal to him. I would rather slit my own throat.” When she stops, she takes in mouthfuls of air and looks away as if in shame for losing her composure. 

He remembered the approval her claim of not marrying her children in ‘Targaryen fashion’ garnered and he knew the reasons she chose as she had; but, what was this viciousness? 

Arms up in apology, “I meant my sister; not your children…” he trails off. 

Not completely calmed, she looks at him in pure confusion. “What about her?”

“Why did you not tell me your brother is marrying my sister?”

A guttural laugh is answer and he curses himself for coming here, once again. “My husband is dead though he still haunts me everywhere I go; the mother of his unborn child will remain in my home for months; the man who made a widow of me would make demands of me; I have sold my children’s future so that there might be peace for the tattered realm I am now in charge of because I do not trust anyone else to do it and you are here to ask me about a marriage arranged by your father and my brothers?” 

He flinches as he steps back again. Had she been anyone else, he was sure she would have slapped him. All day he had been getting unsatisfactory answers. He feels he is going to get more than he ever wanted to hear. Her words, his fathers, and her brother’s words jumble about, a similar theme: what are your concerns in the face of ours? 

Cersei was his concern. “You say that as if you have no stake in the match at all.” 

She snaps, “What of it? I am not the only one.” 

His answer is plain, “I would have liked to have heard it from you.”

She shakes her head, “Why does that matter?” She sighs, “What is done is done.” He knows this is the closest he was going to get to an apology, if she was going to offer one. 

“If my father refused the match, what would you have done?”

Her anger seemed gone, but, he knows better. “I knew he would not.” She shrugs again.

His eyes narrow. “Many people claimed and failed to know Tywin Lannister before you.” 

This she does not take as an accusation, but, her face still shutters closed. “I know enough about what he would and would not accept.”

He steps closer to her. “Do you?”

She sighs. “I cannot give you back as his heir without answering questions even he would not want asked. This marriage and your brother’s is all I can give him. I have little else he, or anyone, would want.”

At the odd tone and the words, Jaime’s apprehension rises once more. “There were others you considered?” 

She hesitates. “There was one I decided against mentioning to him.”

Frowning, Jaime leans forward; curious. “Tell me.” 

He is so close though she keeps her head turned away from him, looking where her husband’s remains are. “If you are certain nothing could come of it and will not let there be, what is the harm in telling me?” 

“Princess?” She still refuses to look at him. “Elia?” 

She whispers, “My own.”

He blinks. Given their location he did not know whether to be shocked or appalled. “You thought of marrying again?” Realizing the implication of her words he settles on shocked. “You would have offered to marry my father yourself.”

She turns towards him, smiled ruefully. “Had I voiced such a notion, no doubt, he would have rejected it, if not found it insulting. I would rather not humiliate myself.” He hears the ‘further’ she leaves unsaid.

Jaime thought furiously. That would have been better than a marriage between Cersei and Oberyn Martell. His father saw the possibility of Elia’s marrying again and the advantage of being the boy-king’s new father. His father’s reluctant acceptance of Tyrion as his heir was based on having no other son. With Elia, there would be no other child and no possibility of scandal if there was no son his father could pass over Tyrion for. 

But, that is not why Jaime’s anger flares. Why should she be exempt if she would have everyone else, _Cersei_ , married? “What stopped you?” 

“My lady-mother and my good-mother used to tell me of yours and how he loved Lady Joanna very much. I would rather not live in another woman’s shadow if I could help it.” He flinches not knowing whether it was because of yet another mention of his mother or because he knows what Elia meant. 

Elia was not done. “If your father desired it, he would have married again already. I can assume he does not desire it.” It is true; his father never looked at another woman the way he used to his mother.

Her face is solemn. “I would make a poor lady for anyone now, let alone for the Lord of Casterly Rock. My devotion would always be to my children, my family, and the realm after that. Your father knows that about me and I know enough of what drives him. If I could not find it in myself devote myself to what your father does, thinking of it serves no purpose. I hope you would ensure this remains between us and my brother.” 

Oberyn Martell’s words come back to him, “ _…reasons... your father, your sister, and my sister… it is no hardship when I consider the alternative_ ”. Jaime frowns. Oberyn Martell would sacrifice himself in his sister’s place and would rather not have another good-brother whose primary duty was not his sister and her children. And while his father came to the game late, but, was not a man to ignore.

Jaime closes his eyes, wondering if his father has difficulty contending with Martell’s logic as he does. “You have given this some thought.” 

“I thought it might become necessary.” She does not bother hiding her bitterness. “Do you not think that I would have arranged my own marriage if it meant I did not have to use my children or my brother? But, I am not a woman with many choices. I just-” She opens her mouth, pauses, and closes it again to take a breath. “I would make a poor wife for whatever man who would think to seek my hand.” She turns back to her husband’s remains. 

His anger flickers out, but, he does not know if he is more confused or alarmed by her words. “What?” Before Lyanna Stark, he remembered Prince Rhaegar and Elia having a good marriage. Cersei was his everything, but, what he knew of Elia was better than the vague memories he had of Lysa Tully. 

This time her smile is resigned. “Everyone in Westeros, Essos, and, perhaps even, Sothoryos knows I can no longer give any man seeking to have an heir a child of any sort. Perhaps some second son or a minor lord may consider it; after all, there is some novelty in having a king for a son. But, it would fade quickly when they realize that I would give no one authority over my children, even if it was my new husband, assuming that my son’s Small Council would even allow a marriage for me without someone coming to words or blows because of their respective preferences.” 

She frowns and she is looking at the cask again. “Of course, if a man as dutiful as Rhaegar Targaryen found me ultimately unsatisfactory as a wife, why would others bother with me?” 

That answer gives him no joy; nor do her shining eyes. 

“Is that what you meant by he haunts you?” 

He regrets the question. Her voice is low. “No one forgets Rhaegar Targaryen easily. My Aegon looks just like him. My Rhaenys does not favor him, but, he is there. The chambers are clear of his most of things now, but, I come across a book he used to read or his instruments and I can hear his voice or hear the sounds of music he used to play. I am in my Solar working and I think he should be here doing what I am doing. In the Throne Room, it is the same. Even when I am arbitrating minor disputes I cannot help but think of how he would have decided had he been alive. He is never far from my thoughts. His shadow would still be there if I marry again, if I ever do. Whatever man deigns to marry me deserves better than that.” 

He prompts, “You would live your life alone?” Darkly, he thinks, ‘he must’. 

She looks at him, considering. “I married and I gave my husband children. My marriage has ended. I have my children and my duty and there is more of the latter than I ever hoped to have.” 

Duty. There was that word again. He dreads the course of this conversation, knowing how it will end for them both, but, he forces himself to go on. “You would live your life for just duty?” 

A stupid question from a man of the Kingsguard and she answers in kind. “Will you be doing anything different?” 

He blanches. “You have taken no vows like me and you are not required to live as though you have. What if you find love once more?” That is not the question he wants to ask, but, the only one he could. 

She looks at him again; despondent. “Love? If I had loved him enough and if my husband loved me more than he had other things, and perhaps that includes love for Lady Stark, he would have not done as he had. You know Lady Stark told me she loved my husband. Her betrothed harasses me because of his love for her. It has done none of us any favors.” Though her voice is soft and the answer was almost expected, his heart is tight in his chest. 

“Have you forgiven him?” Have you forgiven your husband for perhaps choosing love over duty? Will Cersei forgive him for choosing duty over their love? 

She sighs. “I have. But, he is not here and I will not look like a fool by sacrificing what I do have for what I can no longer make a claim on, if I ever could.” The answer felt like a blow. 

He remembers Elia’s words to Ser Gerold, _‘I can forgive a temporary lapse once.’_ Even though she knew the need of it, he had his one lapse. No one would forgive him. Not for love. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Jaime pulls his letter to Cersei out. He does not know how long he looked at it before he walks towards the nearest torch. 

As the letter burns he hears her voice, “What is that?” He startles as it occurs to him that Elia witnessing his burning things she should not is becoming something of a habit. 

He tries to smile though his emotions press upon him. “It is just a letter I can no longer send.” 

She looks stricken as if she realized what the letter was. “I should have never said…” She takes a breath, embarrassed, “You should not-” 

Jaime belatedly remembers her uncle’s unspoken secret, but, Ser Lewyn was not a man making a cuckold of her brother and he still died for duty to men who insulted his niece. Jaime shakes his head, cutting her off. “It is fine. I should have known better than to write it. If you will live for duty, I should be able to do no less. I swore to do so and I can only delude myself about such things for so long.” 

He tries not to look as sick as he feels. He is grateful she says nothing more, but, he imagines his face looks broken like hers. 

When the letter is nothing but ashes he turns to her once more. Her face is blank, her eyes are still haunted. “May I ask you something, Elia?” 

Her voice is soft, “Ask whatever you like, Jaime.” 

“Can I ask that we never speak of this again?” 

She bites her lip and nods. If she had not looked so pained he thinks she looked relieved. “I...Yes, of course.” She adds, “I am sorry.” 

He whispers, “So am I." 

* * *

The next morning Jaime is standing with his father, Elia, and her brother to bid his uncle farewell. 

His uncle turns towards him expectantly. “Jaime, do you have any message for your brother and sister?” 

His heart clenches. He says, “Tell Tyrion that I miss him and will write soon.”

His uncle nods, “Your sister?” 

_I miss her. I love her above all else. I do not want her to marry Oberyn Martell or anyone else. Had I been a different man I would run away with her…_

His throat constricts uncomfortably and his eyes burn. “Tell her…tell her, I love her and I am happy for her.” 

His uncle, clearly having not forgotten their previous conversation, nods approvingly and with one clap at his shoulder turns from him to speak to his father. 

After his uncle had gone Jaime does not know how much time had passed until he hears Elia, beside him, cough slightly. Jaime looks around. They were the only ones who remained. He starts, “Ah, excuse me, my Princess. It was kind of you to see my uncle off.” 

He sees her worried look and he is glad she was usually too polite to ask him what was wrong, though she has knowledge of some of it. “There is nothing to thank, Ser Jaime. Lord Kevan was very kind.” A moment passes, “Shall we go inside?” 

Why not? There was nothing out here for him. 

Frowning slightly, Elia speaks again, “Would you come with me?” 

He will; that was his duty to go where she goes. They both have that. “Where?” 

“To see Lord Arryn.” 

No matter how impossible it seems, he grasps at anything to make him forget. “May I ask why?” 

She steps closer towards him and he takes her arm in a gesture he absently recognizes as being more frequent. She whispers, “To see if he cannot convince Lord Baratheon to leave for Storm’s End soon.” 

He remembered what Oberyn Martell had said. For the first time since the day before, he bites back a true smile. “Oh?” 

“Lord Stannis will be making his way here. Lord Robert is the Lord of Storm’s End and it has been some time since he had seen his homeland or his youngest brother.” Elia continues, “He also has a wedding to prepare for.” 

Jaime lets the twitch of the arm in his go unacknowledged. “You want him to leave until Lady Lyanna gives birth.” 

She stiffens beside him, but, she does not pull away. “I would rather he stayed away even after that.” 

He fights the smirk threatening his blank expression. “That is a fairly lofty hope for someone who claims not to have the luxury of hoping.” 

Her voice lowers. “I understand his anger, and the rules of single-combat aside, he killed my husband. His comments and the hateful looks do not endear him to me. I will not listen to accusations in my own home while he ignores his role in what he accuses me of. There are limits.” 

Jaime smiles slightly. “Lord Arryn would have more success than most.” He frowns, “Do you think keeping him at a distance will help?” He fights to keep his expression neutral though they both know he is not asking about Robert Baratheon. 

“It is worth trying”. She does not sound confident. 

Trying is not accomplishing; but, it is better than not trying at all, perhaps. “I suppose it is.”


	8. Stannis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Though this is a ASOIAF based work and there is nothing particularly explicit, I should mention this chapter contains allusions to war-related circumstances involving the eating of animals not usually eaten & starvation and death & murder.

Though he hears the voice of his mother’s uncle, Lomas, from behind him, Stannis Baratheon does not turn around. Both his gaze and the bulk of his attention are trained on the Red Keep. He does not contain his grimace. He has no desire to be here, though he chose to be. He nearly snorts; there had been no choice. Not for him; not this time.

The last time he had a choice he debated choosing between duty to his brother and duty towards his king. He chose his brother, but, that choice turned him into a traitor who starved and allowed his people to starve. He and his people stayed awake for many hungry nights while their enemies surrounded them, feasting and making merry. Now he is in their midst. He does not consider it a choice to be in King’s Landing and it matters not how polite a letter sent from a lady could be or how much the bannermen of his brother tell him it is. He can only tell himself being in King’s Landing is a duty.

He had been in King’s Landing once before. He remembers little of it save the stench of the city and entering the Throne Room with his hand clutched in Robert’s. He does not know if the Throne Room remains unchanged, but, the stench of the city is familiar. Such a thing can never be comforting and is not.

He had been young, then. Things had been different. His mother and father had been alive. His still far too thin hands clench at his sides and he closes his eyes as the memory of watching his parent’s ship crash assaults him. He knew their deaths was an accident; however, they would not have been on the Windproud had Aerys not demanded they go on that fruitless search for a bride for Prince Rhaegar in Essos.

With one more glance at the Red Keep, he straightens his spine. They are dead. Robert killed Prince Rhaegar. Even King Aerys is dead. The war is over. None of it should matter. He does not believe it, but, his duty to Robert requires that he put all that aside, though Robert is not here, either. His brother is not with him and will not be.

He supposes that was the point. Even before Robert arrived in Storm’s End, Maester Cressen handed him two letters from King’s Landing; one from Robert and one with the Targaryen seal. If Robert had not written he would have thought the other was a very bad attempt at a jape at his expense, only Robert had written verifying the “invitation” from Elia Martell to sit on the Small Council as Master of Ships had been real. A very confused and despondent Renly had not wanted him to come here. His youngest brother had cried even, but, upon Robert’s arrival, Stannis saw the necessity of leaving Storm’s End to Robert as was proper. He wondered at the possible reasons why he was “chosen” but, he accepted the charge. That it meant he was to sit on a council presumably led by the boy-king’s Dornish mother he never met and the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, who he had no reason to think well of, should make no difference.

He sighs. Then, Tywin Lannister had been sitting on the Iron Throne in place of Aerys. Stannis remembers thinking Lord Tywin had been the king before being told otherwise. Now, the man is near it once more because he gave his aid to the Targaryen cause. When he asked for specifics, Robert, in between the dark looks and clipped words, said the woman sits on the throne with an agreeable Lord Tywin Lannister beside her. 

If the men who returned with Robert, all from the Stormlands themselves, are to be believed, and Stannis has no reason to think they were telling lies, few in King’s Landing minded this. The twenty years Lord Tywin had been Hand of the King had been very good years, many recalled. Rhaegar’s widow gave the family a male heir, who was now, upon the death of his sire and grandsire, a king, even if he was a mere babe. Widows acted in the interest of their too young sons, they shrugged. 

From what Stannis gathered from the discussions with their returning bannermen, there was still ambivalence to the situation in King’s Landing. He would have been reassured by this; however, he was disappointed in discovering they were more distrustful of Princess Elia’s Dornish heritage than they were of Lord Tywin’s actions. When he voiced this, both his mother’s uncles and some of the others shook their heads at him as though he was a child instead of a man who lived through a war. Robert, for once, it seemed, agreed with him; sneering at Lord Tywin Lannister’s ending his self-imposed seclusion only after the fighting was done and the man’s behavior towards him and those who joined Robert in battle. However, Robert grumbled about the Targaryen widow just as much, though his grumbling seemed more to do with whose widow the woman was and how he was certain she was the reason he was kept from Lady Stark more than he desired. In the end, it had stopped none of them from accepting the situation or from accepting the guests gifts Elia Martell gave them. 

Robert had been just as enthusiastic in telling him about the other members of the council though he had been mollified at Lord Arryn’s appointment. Stannis felt differently, but, not enough to reject the “offer”. Still, had one of the men on the council been a Tyrell or Redwyne, Stannis would have refused outright; Robert or no Robert; duty or no duty. But, the Master of Coin was a Hightower. He did not like he was expected to work with those his brother and men previously fought and Robert liked it no more than he did. Yet, neither of them could deny what other lords of the Stormlands had said: King Aerys II Targaryen was dead and two seats on the council for the Stormlands was nothing to sniff at. It all unnerved him, but, there was finality in the way Robert recounted the agreements made forcing him not to argue. Robert said he had a choice, but, Stannis knew better.

Their bannermen had been nonplussed upon discovering Robert would not be occupying one of the seats but only a fool could fail to grasp Robert’s hatred of King’s Landing and the people in it. They had been quick to reassure him that their liege-lord’s brother and uncle would just serve just as much, in his stead. It was no ringing endorsement for him, but, Stannis knew of other’s preference to Robert for far too long to react to it and give ammunition to their own men. Robert was already angry with him for other reasons. 

He clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth clack against one another as he tries to smother thoughts he cannot afford. Robert wants him here; needs him to be here. _I am going to the Eyrie…watch Renly for me…betray your duty to your king for me…hold Storm’s End for me…be my eyes on the council…be happy for me that I am marrying the woman I love…_

Robert always wanted too much from him. But, he chose his brother and his brother acknowledged this new regime, and he would do his duty. No matter how difficult he found it, he was resolved to this the day he boarded a ship with his mother’s kinsman to this city to join people who he did not trust and who did not trust him. 

He straightens as he sees the unfamiliar man with the not so unfamiliar livery leading the small party moving in his direction. Prince Oberyn Martell of Sunspear is here to greet him. Stannis knew the man was still in the city, but, was not expecting this. Robert said that when he arrived, Elia Martell had been waiting for him with Lord Lannister. Now, neither Regent nor Hand was here, but, the Regent’s brother was. Robert had killed her husband and she still met with him. He supposed as just Robert’s younger brother, one who fought no battles, entitled him to no such courtesies. Even as he stands more upright, he decides not to broach the subject. As it was, he suspected he was not leaving the city for quite some time, assuming, of course, his brother recalls him for the wedding at all. No need to antagonize the Targaryen loyalists just yet, he wagered. He will likely prove to be a disappointment to them soon enough.

Uncle Lomas stepped out from behind him and approached the other party first. Stannis’ jaw clenched more tightly even as Prince Oberyn amiably introduced himself to Uncle Lomas. 

Stannis tried not to react when he saw the way the Dornishman grimaced at his black cloak and the pin in the shape of a stag that held it tight against him. The other man greeted him in a tone so formal it could have frozen sea water, “My Lord Stannis of House Baratheon”.

Stannis simply delivered his own equally formal greeting. 

Now, the Dornishman smiles at them both, in what Stannis thinks is supposed to be, apologetically, “My lords, I welcome you to King’s Landing. I beg your indulgence…” The man’s tone put paid to the idea that any sort of begging was occurring, not that neither he nor Uncle Lomas was intending on commenting on it. “The Princess Regent wished to receive you herself; however, this morning’s audiences have run slightly longer than we anticipated. I hope you can forgive that.” 

Stannis felt his teeth clack together once more and he was sure the others heard it as he was given what supposedly passed for a polite smile from the Dornishman.

His uncle catches his eye and sends him a look, as if in warning, before looking back to Prince Oberyn. “There is nothing to forgive. It is understandable the Princess would be occupied.”

One of the Prince’s companions comes forward as Prince Oberyn replies, “I believe the Regent will be in the Throne Room for some time. In the interim, perhaps you, Lord Lomas, would prefer to rest while the Regent finishes her appointments. Ser Myles will escort you to your quarters.” 

And with a formal bow from a Manwoody of Kingsgrave, Stannis is left alone with a Prince of Dorne. 

“Lord Stannis Baratheon”. He stiffens at the way the Dornishman sounds out his name once more. “Please follow me.” 

Even if the expression on his face is devoid of hostility, Stannis does not trust the other man’s intentions. Yet, he still follows him. He is already here and he swore to remain. He takes little comfort in knowing that if the Dornish treated him badly, Robert would be forced to act, on principle, at least.

* * *

He glanced at the man next to him. He had been told he could meet with the man's sister after these audiences concluded. Stannis wished for no such thing, but, he would have it done. But, for now he would wait. Nothing untoward has happened, yet, Stannis was less than at ease, given what he observed. 

From his position in the gallery of the Throne Room, stone-faced, he takes in sight of the Hand of the King. Lord Tywin Lannister looked older, but, otherwise largely unchanged; just as regal; just as severe. Stannis’ eyes move to the rather large Master of Coin, Lord Garth Hightower. Once more he looks away quickly before his thoughts can be registered by the silent Dornishman.

His eyes focus on his hands. Like the rest of him, they are thin. All of him is thinner than he had been before the war. He heard often enough, in whispers, of the way he was not handsome like Robert. He also knew what others have said about his dour countenance, his lack of social graces, and his temper. He also heard that time the realm spent at war had not been kind to him and that he had not been kind, in turn.

Looking at those men, in fact, at most of them, below him, only reminds him of the rage and despair which fueled him during the war. The sight of the Lannister lord makes him remember how he had chosen. He is simultaneously affronted and jealous of the man. The Lord of Casterly Rock chose late, but, the man had not chosen treason. Not like him. Holding Storm’s End had been just, there is no question of it, and King Aerys Targaryen wanted his brother’s head for no other reason than whom he was; yet, whatever Aerys had done, whatever he had become, Aerys had been his king and a man his father had been family to and concerned for. 

Just one look at the fat Hightower and his mind easily supplies the sounds feasting and merriment of those men of the Reach surrounding Storm’s End. He remembers being trapped in his own home, knowing his brother and others were fighting, while he was unable to do anything about it. He remembers waiting for death amidst sickness and starvation and watching others do the same. 

Not even having been pointed out a blue-clad, Lord Arryn decreases the maelstrom of sentiments warring within him. Lord Arryn was Robert’s foster-father, not his. Lord Stark was not present, but, Prince Oberyn had said no more to him on the issue of the Starks and Stannis did question him further.

He takes a deep breath and looks down once more shifting his attention to the two members of the Kingsguard standing sentry on either side of the Iron Throne. One was the Lord Commander. The other was Ser Jaime Lannister. Robert disliked both; the younger one because he was Tywin Lannister’s son, and the Lord Commander who, it was said, made no secret of his distrust of any man who rebelled. He was certain both saw him though they made no great show of it, even though both had frowned at the sight of him. In the short time he had been here, they were not the only ones to do so; yet, he wonders what that means for him. He dislikes the thought.

His eyes moved to the Iron Throne occupied by a dark-haired woman, obviously the Princess Regent, Elia Martell of Sunspear, mother to King Aegon VI. A thin and frail woman, Robert and the others had sneered. What does that mean when he believes himself to be thinner than she is? Or that her pallor is less sickly looking than his? What does it matter if she is a woman if her judgment while she sits upright in that monstrous metal seat is far from faulty? Robert said plenty, but, what mattered most was that she no Aerys and now Stannis sees it first hand.

He does not know how long he stood listening as she presided over petty complaints and punished various criminals in the name of the king she gave birth to. Was the way she heard each argument and refrains from burning men alive and instead sentences them to fines, the gaol in the Black Cells, or the Night’s Watch something of a comfort? As far as Stannis could gather, there was little discontent in the faces of the audience. Had Robert and the rest of them agreed to this arrangement because most of what she did mirrored what they would have done in the same circumstances? Did they let her have the chair because she was careful so that no one could find something true to rail against? He chances a look at her brother. Or was this a just a show for his benefit?

So lost in the possibilities, he flinched recognizing the audiences were almost finished. They had been through a war; the former King and his silver heir were dead; former rebel lords, even if not entirely happy, were moderately satisfied enough to retake their posts as subjects of the crown; and, things are moving along. Today, it means he will meet with Elia Martell and is closer to working with those who had been his enemies not one moon’s turn ago. Did the fault lie with him that he seems only one unnerved by this?

He catches movement in his periphery. Since he arrived, more than once, he caught others staring. A Baratheon and a Martell standing together was, no doubt, an unusual sight, but, he could have done without the whispers and glares directed towards the regalia of his house he wore. If this was what Robert had to contend with, was it any wonder his brother wanted to be gone from this place?

* * *

Prince Oberyn leads him to meeting chambers of the Small Council. Stannis hears a woman’s voice, “Lord Commander, I will see you in two hours time.”

Another voice, likely Lord Commander Hightower’s, followed, “Yes, my Princess.”

Moments later the man stops in front of them. Prince Oberyn speaks, “Lord Commander, may I present, Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm’s End.”

Ser Gerold starts, “My Prince. My lord,” A pause, “welcome to King’s Landing.” As he expected, there was no welcome in the man’s voice, just mistrust. “If you would excuse me, I have duties to see to.” 

They let him go and continue on into the room. Ser Jaime Lannister spots them and straightens his stance. 

Elia Martell smiles at her brother, “Thank you, Brother.” When looking at him, her face is courteously blank. “Lord Baratheon, welcome. Allow me to introduce”, she gestures to Lord Tywin first. “Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King.” Lord Tywin glances at him and nods once tersely. Elia Martell points out “Ser Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard.” This knight nods, politely, but, Stannis focuses his attention on the knight’s father who was now walking towards _him_.

Stannis stiffens. Lord Tywin’s voice is steady, but, cold, “Lord Stannis, once you are settled, I hope to meet with you to discuss specifics about your office.” He nods, not understanding, but, the Lord of Casterly Rock turns quickly to Prince Oberyn, “My Prince, if you have a moment I wish to speak with you privately.”

The Dornishman glances briefly at his sister and he replies, “Of course, my lord Hand.” Ser Jaime looks irritated, but, the expression vanishes as both men leave.

“My lord, please sit.” He walks slowly towards the seat she indicated.

“Would you care for some wine, juice, or water?” She gestures to the awaiting pitchers. The returning bannermen spoke of how she kept a well-stocked table. Was there a reason she was bothering with this? “No, thank you.” 

She smiles. “First, I must apologize I meant to receive you personally; however, I was delayed.”

He also heard of Elia Martell’s tendency to stand on ceremony. “Yes.” He swallows a sigh at her expectant look and Ser Jaime’s incredulity.

He elaborates, “Prince Oberyn informed me as I arrived.” 

She laughs gently. “Yes. I trust your journey was pleasant enough?”

Why would it have been pleasant? “We made good time.” Though annoyance builds when she and Ser Jaime share a look, he says nothing.

“Excellent. I trust everything is well at Storm’s End?”

Suspicious, his eyes narrow. “Why do you ask?”

“It is only polite.” He tenses and even polite, her face starts to stiffen. “Has Lord Robert reached Storm’s End? And your youngest brother, Lord Renly?” Her face softens. She ends, “Do they fare well?” 

His suspicions about this conversation grow. He replies, “They are well”.

“You have just arrived. Perhaps I should have let your rest first.” 

Why change the subject? “Am I delaying you from keeping that appointment you were speaking of?” Robert would want to know her movements, he decides.

Her lips curl upwards. “No, I have enough time before I visit the orphanage.” 

He considers that, disappointed almost. “You are patron to an orphanage.” Why he is surprised? His lady-mother had done similar things. He is unsure if Lady Stark engaged in charitable works. He smothers his irritation; Robert can think about her. He knew Lyanna Stark was here, but, his thoughts should be with this woman, not her. 

She smiles softly, “I am, but, not this orphanage.” 

This would have confused him had he not remembered other things Robert had said about Elia Martell. “Why visit this one?”

“This one, my good-mother is patron to.”

Stannis frowned. Along with the guest gifts from Elia Martell, Robert returned with two chests containing gold. Robert called it Dornish gall. The others were torn between righteousness and bemusement. One chest was for the coffers of Storm’s End. The other went to an orphanage in Summerhall. Robert’s men spoke of similar chests being delivered to Stoney Sept and near the Trident, both in the Riverlands. It was rumored Ashford in the Reach was the recipient of one. Her giving gold to places which held battles had to have some purpose beyond charity.

“Why go yourself?” 

“Perhaps you were not aware my good-mother is still away. I do this in her name.” She says it airily; as if there was no ploy behind it.

He counters, “Why in her name and not the King’s?”

“I am patron to another.” The last smile she gave him had been wider and he berates himself for thinking about her smile as if anyone’s mattered.

The knight behind her looks bored. Stannis should not be concerned about the reasons or frequency behind charity, but, he is. “To what end?”

“Charity is one of the duties of a lady. Such things should be handled with the seriousness they deserve.” 

Her expression is mild, but, he nearly recoils. Goodwill is reason enough for most; not him. Even if patronage is what ladies do, it cannot be so simple. Her words feel wrong. Her talk of duty disturbs him. He was familiar with duty; but, entertaining her family’s enemies, the seats on the council, the arrangements to take in her husband’s bastard child, went beyond mere duty. Was it desperation? Looking at her, she did not seem desperate. Was this to gain favor? She was mother to the king and acknowledged Regent. What more favor did she need? 

Ser Jaime is looking at him oddly. Why? He had the right to question her. The realm could not suffer another tyrant or an incompetent ruler. He could not suffer making another choice as he had once before. “Why do both?”

She sighs. “My obligations are still my own. She is family.”

“Your husband’s family.” 

Her lips tighten. “And my children’s.” Her cold tone was reminiscent of her brother’s. “The Dowager Queen was a friend to my lady-mother and always kind me. I have a duty to her and the children she provides for.”

He lets the matter drop. It will go nowhere and he is concerned with other things. “Lord Tywin said something about discussing my responsibilities.”

She nodded. “These last years, the Small Council had seen many…” She tapers off, flushing slightly, “disruptions. Both I and Lord Tywin decided to meet with all members of the new Small Council before they begin to undertake their responsibilities in full. Though I am learning, Lord Tywin has far more experience with governance. I am familiar with what goes into maintaining a fleet in the general sense, but, not to the extent Lord Tywin is.”

Her answer irritates him. He dislikes her reliance on the Lannisters, yet, that she admits to a weakness is not quite uncomfortable. “You wanted to meet with me first.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She blinks; surprise, he thinks. “I wanted to see what you were like.”

He stares blankly. “How do you mean?” The knight rolls his eyes and Stannis glares. Did Ser Jaime’s presence have more to do with attempting to discomfit him with irreverent behavior than guarding the Princess? 

“I had very little first hand knowledge of you”, she says. Her words confound him. Again, the knight is of no assistance.

Looking back towards her, “It is by your suggestion that I am here.”

Her expression is grave. “Yes.”

“If by your own admission, you do not know me, why?”

“A matter of choosing men to be on the King’s Small Council cannot be taken lightly. I like to think I have chosen well.” 

His frown deepens. “And?” Why does she not just tell him what she means? Was this a test of some sort? Did everyone in King’s Landing speak in riddles or was this solely for him?

He gets a raised eyebrow. “From what I know you seem capable. But, if you are asking why would I see you, why would I not wish to see those who would be on my son’s council?”

He dislikes how she answers his question with another. “Your council, you mean.” 

“Regencies, by definition, are not permanent.” She speaks as though this was a matter of days and not years. He says as much. 

Her laughter does not reach her eyes. “One day my son will come of age. Then, I will not need to act in such a capacity.” 

“You say that as if you do not desire to act as Regent. If so, why embrace the role?” The knight’s face turns stormy, but, an odd expression flickers across the woman’s face.

She raises her chin. “As his mother, I am merely doing my duty.”

Duty. It is always there. “That is not what I meant.” 

Now she frowns. “Is this a question about my sex? Other women with young children have done no differently. My lady-mother ruled Sunspear in her own right. Why should I not do this? Or do not believe I am capable?”

He narrowed his eyes. He will not be mocked. “One public viewing is not enough judge anything. This is no matter of one holdfast, one tract of land, and not of your sex.” 

She says, “You will have ample opportunity to see my capabilities.” 

She leans forward and he fights the urge to shift back. “The purpose of the Small Council is so the ruler does not do so alone or unaided, but, someone must be at the head. With anyone else, they have their own family, their own lands, and their own concerns. King’s Landing is my home and where my children belong. My son is too young for the responsibilities which are his by right and so they become mine. There is no other alternative; at least, not one less troublesome.” 

He balks at the implications of her words. “Do not tell me you are Regent simply because any other alternative is less problematic.” The very idea is ludicrous; this entire thing has been an exercise in the ludicrous since the beginning. 

Her hands are now folded so tightly together they are almost white and her lips are pressed together while the set of her shoulders he likened to someone preparing themselves for battle. “There have been exceptions, but, outside fostering of children, regents and guardians are usually of the same family as the child. They are also typically men of a certain stature, but, there is precedence for mothers to take charge of responsibilities when the situation requires it. Here, besides myself and my good-mother there are few reasonable alternatives. The eldest of the Targaryen line joined the Night’s Watch before either of us was born. My husband’s brother is a boy and it is ridiculous to choose a regent who requires a regent. Capable or not, when the King’s place is King’s Landing, no one will allow my son to be raised with my brothers, when Dorne is their place.”

Her expression stiffens further. “Without lending more…” Here, her righteous indignation turns into clipped-toned anxiety, “awkwardness to this business, there is no one else appropriate.” 

His body tightens with anticipation at her expression. “You and your brothers are my children’s next closest kin. Their father died at Lord Robert’s hand. No one would consider it a viable option.”

Face heated, he jerks out of his chair; his patience gone. The sound of his hands hitting the table echoes loudly. He spits out, “They met in battle and my brother would have never been put into that position had your husband taken liberties not his to take and if the former King” He does not try to restrain him voice, “had not demanded my brother’s head.” He breathes heavily, his gaze is so firmly on the woman Stannis barely registers how close Ser Jaime is to him.

His rage is mirrored in her face, “I _know_ this, Lord Stannis. I do not excuse what was done or celebrate it.” She stops to take a ragged breath. She swallows, takes two more breaths. Even as emotion recedes from her face, she tries and fails for a measured tone, “However unusual this might be or how distasteful he finds this, Lord Robert had his opportunity to object to this arrangement. He did not.”

Gall, indeed. His eyes are in the shape of slits. “He did because you made this too good of an opportunity for more than just him”.

She looks up at him; her posture is so erect he was sure her bones creaked in protest. “I am not very unique in doing what I must to do for my own.” She hesitates and shakes her head. “Put mildly, King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar had done the people of the Stormlands, among many others, great disservice. I will not say I am incapable of making mistakes, but, Lord Robert understands this is the best any of us can manage currently.” She sags heavily in her seat.

The knight glares at him. Stannis sits down sharply; his lips curl into a sneer. “And this is some attempt at reparation? You think this erases what was done. If no one else will tell you, Princess Regent, I will. Think nothing of the sort.” He will not forget. He cannot. 

The silent Kingsguard steps back at the lady’s nod. She manages, “It is good that you tell me so”. There is a tremor in her hands as she goes on, “I expect you not remain silent on matters you find fault with Lord Stannis. However, this matter had long since become tiresome. I will not insult your intelligence and tell you your lord-brother and I will be friends or desire it; but, an accord was reached. Decisions stemming from that accord concern more than just us. To change things now will result in confusion and greater unnecessary complications none can afford.”

Stannis smothers his words; not his irritation. Robert said similar. If this is what he has to contend with, he wonders if he should remove himself from this situation before dismissing the thought. What happens after would be his responsibility. Someone more kindly disposed to her would accept the position. Not knowing the man’s current whereabouts, the living Jon Connington, a man of the Stormlands and a Targaryen loyalist, comes to mind. His teeth began to grind against one another. His inability to do what was expected of him would likely be taken by many, perhaps even Robert, as a sign of incompetence, immaturity, or cowardice.

He squares his shoulders. “Why choose me?” 

It is some time before she answers. “I know little of you. What I do is you withstood a siege against a large host. That is worth something. However, my initial motivation relates to the make up of the rest of the council.”

He grinds out, “In what way?”

She takes no pains to hide her grimace. “Lord Robert informed you of the other appointments.”

He jerks his head in a nod. She continues, “The Westerlands, the Vale, the Reach, and now the Stormlands are now represented.” 

He muses, “But, not the North.” 

She smiles and the knight’s guffaws fill his ears, even if there was no warmth in either gesture. “That is so, Lord Stannis; however, Lord Stark would not have accepted a position. He has accepted Prince Rhaegar’s and Lady Stark’s child would reside in King’s Landing. I can ask no more when so few Northmen venture this far south usually.” He thinks of the fates of Brandon & Rickard Stark, and others. 

Grim faced and likewise toned, she continues, “Variety has its advantages. Lord Lannister and Lord Arryn, lords in their own right, provide a wealth of experience and have the benefits of age. Yet, they have their own lands and people to whom they are responsible. Lord Garth and Lord Lomas have less experience in ruling in his own right, but, they are also of a certain age. There is much to say about youth and while you did not see battle, your experiences were forged during a war. I do not discount that.” 

Her words would have been pretty for anyone else. “You chose me because I am younger than the rest, without other responsibilities, and I am of the Stormlands.” 

“Yes.” He had long since known honesty sweetens nothing. 

“Now you have met with me. Has that changed?” 

“No.” He clenches his jaw at Ser Jaime’s amused look.

“Why not?”

Before she answers, her brother enters the chambers once more. 

Wearily, she replies, “War makes people think and do things they would have otherwise not. King’s Landing could always use men who are not fools.” 

He recognizes the ‘interview’ was at an end when she rises. He follows; not quite relieved. 

Awkwardly, she starts again, “There is to be a feast tonight in the Great Hall tonight. Is there anything you do not care for?” 

He wonders, even as he says, “No”; but, inquires no further. Even if he was familiar with eating items not meant for consumption, he doubts she would serve him such things. 

She takes her brother’s proffered arm. “Ser Jaime will escort you to your quarters. I am grateful you have given me this time.” With nearly identical bows of their heads, the Martells were gone. 

Now he understands what Robert meant when he said Elia Martell’s motivations were obvious, not entirely objectionable, and entirely aggravating.

* * *

“You were in King’s Landing when King Aerys died.”

At Storm’s End he could do nothing but think. Questions nagged at him. Stannis nearly snorts. He will likely just get evasions for his efforts, and more frustrating questions.

Ser Jaime stares at him for a long while. “I am a member of the Kingsguard. King Aerys required that I do not leave the Red Keep, so here I remained. Where else would I be?” Even as he gestured around them almost lazily, the man looked suspicious. “What of it?”

Stannis narrows his eyes. “You were here, but, why were you not with him when he died?”

The knight becomes visibly angry. However, as quickly as it arrived, anger is replaced by a guilt-laden expression and another stretch of silence. When Ser Jaime answers, his words are stilted. He also does not look at him. “I was with the Princess Regent and the children when the King took his last breath.” 

He is certain he is gaping like a fool. “Why?”

The man will still not look at him. “Lord Stannis, simply, that is what happened.” 

“Why were you with them and not with the King when your duty was to guard him?”

Now the man turns to him; Stannis would have though it a dangerous expression; except, Stannis saw incredulity. Did the man think no one would ask so long as Aerys was dead? “‘Duty’, Lord Stannis? After your time with Princess Elia, I would have thought you would have had your fill hearing about duty.” He stiffens, and the knight speaks again. “You would speak to me about being less than dutiful when you stood against the king?”

Stannis spat, “I was not sworn to guard him.”

He gets a strangled laugh in return. “No you were not, my lord, but, you did owe him your allegiance, did you not? Still, you held up against him and his supporters. But, fear not my lord, I find no fault in you for it; nor does the Princess for that matter.” The man smirks.

“My actions do not absolve your failures and I do not need to speak of the Princess.” He does not want to talk about Elia Martell. He does not want to talk of choosing to do his duty to his brother rather than to his king; not to this man; or to any other. 

Ser Jaime laughs though to Stannis it seemed the man aged before his eyes. “I accept I did not guard the king as I should have. I do not seek to be excused for it; but, a man of the Kingsguard does not only guard the king. That night I guarded King Aerys’ good-daughter and his grandchildren. Duty, my lord, like the vows I took, I owe to more than one person. One can fail to uphold one vow trying to uphold another.” The man shakes his head and sighs. “Even now, what happened surprises me. No one could have foreseen he would meet his end like he did. I must live with what I have done and did not do. I can. We all must.” 

Though Ser Jaime’s whisper is soft, the knight’s tone matches the hard glint of his green eyes. “You will find, my lord, that my resolve to do my duty properly has only strengthened since then.” The small twitch of the lips he receives disturbs Stannis even more than the unvoiced threat.

They walk in silence until another man dressed in the white of the Kingsguard comes into view.

Now, to his unease, there is a bright smile fixed on Ser Jaime’s face. “Ser Oswell! Allow me to introduce Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm’s End. Lord Baratheon, this is Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. Lord Baratheon just arrived from Storm’s End.” Stannis has to ponder which one was the act; this now or before, liking neither possibility.

Stannis stiffens when Ser Oswell looks at him. Agitation grows remembering Ser Oswell Whent had been with Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna when they absconded together, along with Ser Arthur Dayne and the Lord Commander. Stannis finds it difficult to fight a frown even as he wonders if this man ever felt conflicted in his duties. The knight breaks the silence, “Ah, welcome to King’s Landing, my lord.” He flushes slightly. Stannis, not trusting himself to speak, just nods. 

Ser Oswell quickly looks away to turn back to the other knight. “You will attend dinner in the Great Hall tonight, Ser Jaime?” 

Ser Jaime laughed once more. “Yes, I am, but, certainly you did not seek me out for that alone?”

Despite the man’s uneasy expression, Ser Oswell laughs. Stannis thinks the men of the Kingsguard laugh too much and at the wrong things. The knight goes on to say, “No, not at all. The Lord Commander just wanted me to let you know that you can take the rest of the evening to rest and would be free to wear the colors of your house if you were going to attend. I’ve just been to see Ser Arthur in the nursery as well.” 

Ser Jaime smiled, “I see. I will thank the Lord Commander when I see him.”

Ser Oswell glanced back at him and frowned. He hesitated before asking Ser Jaime, “Is Ser Barristan still in the Godswood?”

For some reason Ser Jaime looks at him before turning back to the other Kingsguard. “I believe so.” Stannis detected an odd note in Ser Jaime’s tone that went beyond mere formality or caution in front of a former enemy.

Ser Oswell straightens, looks at him once more, and flushes deeper. Looking pained, Ser Oswell replies, “Well, I see. I will leave you to it.” The man walks away at a brisk pace leaving Ser Jaime frowning and him confused.

A deeper sense of wrongness filled him. The exchange was far too odd to leave alone. “Ser Jaime?”

The man, walking once again, keeps his gaze directed forward, “Yes, my lord?” Terse. He _knows and dislikes_ what Stannis will ask.

“If Ser Gerold will be with Princess Elia and Ser Arthur is in the nursery, why would Ser Barristan be in the Godswood?”

He prompts Ser Jaime more sharply when no answer came. “Well?”

“Ser Barristan”, still not looking at him, the knight begins, “would be accompanying Lady Stark.”

Stannis froze. To say he is at a loss would be an understatement. 

“Lady Stark.” Hearing this only brings forth what he would rather not think of. 

“Yes.” The reply is succinct and Ser Jaime still does not look at him. 

“Why would she be there?” ‘Why is she roaming around in public at all? His lips tighten. Lady Stark was carrying a child not her husband’s or even her betrothed’s. Why would she resist taking a stroll if it suited her fancy?’ 

“The Starks do not visit the Sept as they keep the Old Gods. She is the sister of a High Lord and a guest of this house. As the Princess Regent says, the only prisoners here are those in the Black Cells.” Stannis can hear the disapproval in Ser Jaime’s whispers. Whether it was for his questioning this or for the lady Stannis did not care. Ser Jaime continued, “Though she does not frequent much of the Red Keep, they are among the areas she does frequent, if she does leave her chambers.” 

Stannis is unsure if he wants the knight to look in his direction now. “Why is a member of the Kingsguard with her?”

“The child she carries is Prince Rhaegar’s.” He feels a stab of anger. He did not need to have this explained to him as if he was a child. It is bad enough this situation exists. “Until such time when Lady Stark…” A pause and a cough, “gives birth, it was decided she is to be accompanied by a member of the Kingsguard. Lord Stark usually accompanies her, if that is your concern.” Whether her brother joins her is not his concern. The very fact she carries another man’s child, doing so willingly and unapologetically, is his concern; especially when Robert has decided he still wants the girl to be his wife and the future lady of Storm’s End.

He narrows his eyes. “My brother was aware of this.” 

“Yes” is the reply. 

“The Princess Regent allows this?” It explains some of Robert’s grumblings, though there was nothing comforting in the thought.

“It is not my place to question the Princess Regent.” _Naturally_. The knight’s voice becomes just as cold as Stannis feels. “Lady Stark is not a prisoner here, but, a lack of care serves no one.” The emphasis Ser Jaime puts on the words tell him that the knight has no desire whatsoever to discuss this with him. Had this been about anyone else, Stannis thinks he would have shared the sentiment; yet this was not just any other lady.

He nearly barks out the next question, “Will Lady Stark sup in the Great Hall tonight?”

“I have no reason to think otherwise.” Of course. 

The rest of the journey to his rooms is silent and uninterrupted. Stannis does not think he could have managed it otherwise.

* * *

He looked about the hall once more. Before entering the well-lit room, Stannis thought this meal was going to be difficult to sit through and had been proven correct. Others had been present when he arrived. He had no issue with that; the irritating whispers, similar to those which started in the Throne Room at the sight of him, he did. The best that could be said was how few approached him or expected he engage them in conversation.

He looks at the High Table and his lips pinch together. At the center was Princess Elia Princess speaking to her brother animatedly. The serious Hand of the King was seated other side of her, joined into whatever the siblings had been conversing about every so often. Ser Jaime, seated with his ‘brother’s’ at a nearby table was clad in Kingsguard-white. Remembering the exchange with Ser Oswell, Stannis could not help but wonder if it was a message for him. Still, he had been greeted politely and that was disconcerting enough; but, he supposed the eyes upon them all contributed to it.

He looked back to his own table. Uncle Lomas seemed to find King’s Landing and the people in it, enjoyable; a quality Stannis quite thoroughly lacked. Uncle Lomas also met with Elia Martell and to Stannis it sounded as though the meeting proved warmer than his frustrating encounter with her. He knew living in King’s Landing would be taxing, but, he could have done Uncle Lomas’ ease at the situation.

Earlier in the evening, when the fish course had been brought in, Stannis nearly had taken up a cup of Arbor Gold to calm himself while Uncle Lomas had been pleased when commenting to the table at large the lamprey had been prepared in the fashion favored in the Stormlands. Lord Arryn stiffly contributed, claiming Robert made similar observations though Stannis privately suspected there had been more colorful language to go along with Robert’s descriptions. Ethan Glover of Deepwood Motte, the only man of the party which accompanied Brandon Stark to King’s Landing King Aerys kept alive, mentioned the Princess Regent took to putting out a table with a variety of dishes from all Westeros with some regularity. Lord Gulian Swann of Stonehelm, who journeyed here with him and Uncle Lomas, looked suitably impressed. Stannis had no doubt thought that had been the purpose. 

He glances at the others seated near him. Not knowing many others here he had reason to trust, trusting fewer, and knowing far fewer he even wished to speak to, he agreed to his uncle’s request to sit together. He regretted it. After they took their seats, they were joined by the Starks. 

Brother and sister had dark hair, grey eyes, and long faces; traditional Stark features, he knew. Both looked at him uncomfortably though Ned Stark had nodded in his direction. Stannis did not know what to say to the man who Robert considered more of a brother than his own and so he said little. He had even less to say to Lady Stark. 

Lyanna Stark was pretty enough for Robert, he supposed, but, she was heavy with child. A child not his brother’s, his mind once more supplied. When they were introduced she greeted him with some politeness, but, her reaction was forced. When she saw him initially, she stared for a while, giving him that look he received from others many times before. She was comparing him to Robert and she barely could contain her frown. She tried to smile after. It was a broken thing he did not bother to try and return. He doubted he could have returned anything warm. This lady had been the one who disregarded her duty to her family and his, but, who Robert still wanted to marry. He had settled for greeting her with a simple, “my lady” and had almost been grateful the need to speak was eliminated when a singer started his act and dishes started being placed in front of him. 

He and Robert fought about many things and that included her. Robert could have set aside the betrothal and no one would have objected, now that everyone knew. Though he was accustomed to disappointment, he had been dismayed when his brother remained firm and the rest predictably wilted for Robert as most are want to do. He had been taken aback when the arguments of “she is the sister of a high lord… the Starks are an old family…the Northmen fought along side them” begun. Some others added “at least we know she is fertile…she is pretty” as if that erased the past.

It was difficult seeing how easily Robert and the rest of them chose to willfully forget how those in Storm’s End starved and the others of the Stormlands fought and died in the war; the war which started when King Aerys ordered Robert’s death, something that would not have occurred had it not been for Robert’s ties to her family. Stannis should have expected his brother would do whatever it took to become family with Ned Stark, even when the man’s sister blatantly disregarded her duty to him and her own father’s wishes. It made nothing less maddening. That she ultimately chose to do the correct thing after did not make things right; not with him.

He sighs. Those at the next able over were still discussing Prince Oberyn’s and Lady Cersei Lannister’s impending wedding. He had known, but, he had no desire to hear about it; not now. Some, no doubt quite into their cups, had taken to looking between at the stony-faced Lady Stark and himself with not so discreet glances and some smirks; their thoughts obvious. When the excited chatter moved towards the prospect of the bedding ritual Lady Stark’s face became ashen; as if she had not remembered such traditions. His mind supplied an angry thought of how she would, no doubt, dread her wedding as if joining his family or being the lady of Storm’s End was something to feel despair at. How could he not think such things, when she all but proved it already?

He takes a breath and glance down at his plate and frowns at the remains of the roast boar in front of him. It was perfectly prepared; everything else had been, but, he did not enjoy it. It had been a long while since he could say he enjoyed anything at all, even food he would have enjoyed once. Doubting such a thing would change, he just refrains from sighing once more.

* * *

The next morning, Stannis wakes early to send a letter to Storm’s End to inform them of his arrival. He supposes Renly would want to hear from him. He also goes to attend the morning audiences in the Throne Room. Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell stood with Elia Martell this time; not Ser Jaime Lannister and the Lord Commander as on the previous day. As he expected, nothing outlandish occurred, yet, his unease at the situation had not settled. He was not sure if it ever would.

In the afternoon, Lord Tywin comes to him with a request, which he knew was not one, to join him in the man’s Solar where they, as Elia Martell predicted, discuss the particular of his office. When they are done, the older man promises the appropriate ledgers will be made available to him before the evening is out and that someone will accompany him into the city the next day so he may familiarize himself with it, “if he desires it”. He agrees. 

That evening, Ser Barristan Selmy comes to him saying Lyanna Stark wanted to see him. Stannis decides to go hoping it does not become a regular occurrence.

With some difficulty, Lady Stark stands when he enters her chambers. “Lord Stannis, welcome”, she greeted him.

He returned a direct, “Lady Stark”. 

She gestures, “Please sit.” He does and she does the same.

She opens her mouth and he fervently wishes she does not request they dispel with formalities. 

Instead, she says, “You do not like me.”

He is shocked silent for a moment at her temerity, but, Stannis had never seen reason in prevaricating or lying before this. He certainly will not start now. “No, I do not.”

She looked surprised; more likely because of how plainly he said it, not that he said so. “What have I done to earn your dislike?”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, but, does not soften his glare. “You say that as if you are unaware of how you earned it.”

This time she glared at him. He has no desire to engage her in any sort of argument; but, it is not in him to spare anyone’s feelings. Perhaps because who this is, it makes this easier.

She sits back down and sighs. Her tone is clipped. “Is it so easy is it for you to pass judgment on me?”

His jaw clenches at her audacity. “It is easy to pass judgment on those who have done wrong; particularly, when they have done wrong to you and yours.”

His irritation rises at her now crossed arms. “What wrong have I done you?” 

His brows knit together. Can she truly not comprehend the gravity of the situation? Or does she simply choose to ignore it. “You carry a child that is neither your husband’s nor betrothed’s. I will not lay blame entirely with you about what happened after you made a mockery of your betrothal by absconding with a married man, but, if you cannot see why your actions are wrong, we have nothing more to say to one another, my lady.” With that, he readies himself to leave. 

Her eyes flash. “What is this truly about, Lord Stannis? I was not the only one who ran away from their obligations and I was not responsible for the Mad King’s actions.”

His eyes narrow as she spat out the word “obligations” as if it was a curse. “My lady, I did not say you were. I am aware how Prince Rhaegar forgot himself and I will not lay the Mad King’s actions on anyone else, but, they are dead. Even if they were not, whatever they had done does not absolve anyone else for failing to do what is required of them and you cannot tell me you have not failed in that way.”

She swallows a mouthful of air, but, she straightens in her seat. “Very well, we do not need to speak of the Targaryens.” She swallows again, “But, you cannot deny that Robert has a bastard child, have you lectured him about it?”

Robert _would_ like this sort of brashness. “Do not presume to think all of my brother’s actions please me or they ever have; because they do not. If you want to play this game we can. He had his child before his betrothal was set. My lady, if you are trying to argue about this being equal, please do not, because it is not. The mother of Robert’s child was not married, was not high-born, and Robert never eloped with her to some decrepit tower in the middle of a desert in order to have the child. You cannot say the same.” 

She laughs and it rankles. “Lord Stannis are you telling me that if I had a child before I was betrothed or if who I had the child with was anyone but the former Crown Prince this would have been more acceptable.”

His voice is still low. “Such a situation does not exist, my lady, and it is an exercise in futility to think of what simply is not.” 

She sighs and sinks back, her hand on her belly and he tenses even more.

“Please just answer the question, Lord Stannis.”

Frustrated, he closes his eyes. He decides to answer whatever questions she has to get this done. “No, it would not be more acceptable to me and it is not.” He stresses the last. 

“This” She points to her belly, “has great importance to you.” She asks as if she does not know it should be. 

“Even before the war, you were to be my brother’s wife. Along side Robert, you will be responsible for the care and education of my younger brother and any children you have together. You are to be lady of Storm’s End. You; who have shown such disregard for what that entails. How could such things have no importance? Why is it you expect me, or anyone else, to dismiss it?” 

She shakes her head. He stiffens. She has no business looking sad. “You do not know me at all, yet, you are disappointed?” 

“‘Disappointed’, Lady Stark, is not complete enough of a word. You were promised to my brother and by running away from your obligations…” He pauses, breathes, and sharply gestures, “and with this, you could not have been clearer as to what you think of us.” 

She almost rose again; her face angry this time. “Think of you? You think I did this to insult you?”

“Do you expect me to take your having a child with anyone else not the man you were betrothed to as anything but an insult to both my brother and my house?”

Her face grows paler. “I did not mean to insult your house or Robert. Such a thought never crossed my mind.”

He snapped, “No, it did not, did it?”

Her face twisted into anger, “How dare you? I am a Stark of Winterfell.” 

His eyes narrow. “And I am a Baratheon of Storm’s End. You show blatant disregard for vows you promised and lack remorse for it. Why wouldn’t I dare?”

Her voice grows an octave louder, harsher, “I was not thinking of Robert-” She breaks off and looks away. He hardly needs it confirmed she was not thinking of Robert. Her actions showed this.

“I did not mean to insult anyone, I just…” She pauses and laughs. It sounds cracked to his ears. “If you had been in Robert’s position, you would have broken the betrothal.”

“Yes.” There is no doubt in his mind he would have.

“But, Robert has not.” He does not like the possibilities of what that tone was supposed to imply. 

“He did not.” Much to his consternation, his brother did no such thing.

She says, “You are not like him.”

He has heard the assessment on plenty of occasions and it has been that way since they were children. “No, I am not.” What did that have to do with anything?

“But you are capable of anger just like him.” What did that mean? Sounding pained, she says, “You should have seen him the first time he saw me when I was brought here from Dorne. He was so angry.” 

He nearly scoffs, irritation rising once more. Any man would be angry. They went to war to avenge the atrocities done to her family and she had not been abducted, but, went willingly. Did she expect Robert, let alone anyone else, would be pleased to discover this? “Why should he not have been angry?”

She counters, “He was not angry enough to break the betrothal. At first he did not even want to believe that I went willingly.”

“He loves you.” He does not bother trying to hide the disdain in his voice. But, was it for Robert or her, Stannis did not know. Likely, it was for both. He goes on, “Why would anyone want to believe their betrothed could dishonor them this way?

“Dishonor?” She bites her lip and she turns it into a mockery of a smile. “He loves me.” She says it as if she does not believe it and he can feel his body stiffen more in anger.

He tells himself to keep his voice low. He feels he might start shouting otherwise. “The former king wanted his head because of the love he bears for you and your family. He fought with your brother to get you back. He still wants to marry you, even though he could have set the betrothal aside. Anyone else who found their betrothed carrying another man’s child would have, yet, he did not. What other proof do you need?”

“I do not need any other proof.” She looks away. “You do not like that Robert still desires marriage to me.” 

“As I have said, I do not.”

“And your bannermen seem to have no issue. Lord Lomas had been nothing but kind.” She accuses as though that should somehow relate to what he thinks or does. 

They are more concerned with what she is, not what she has done. Why would they object much when Robert does not? If they had any objections, remembering the previous night, some would enjoy having her to speak about. 

“The opinions of very few others are of a concern for me.”

“But, yours is less than favorable, yet, you accept that the marriage will go forward.” She does not have the right to sound almost resigned. 

His tone is clipped, “Of course I do. Robert is my elder brother. He is also my liege-lord. I have a duty to abide by his wishes.” 

She sounds incredulous. “You would see your brother marry a woman you do not like because of your duty.” 

With great difficulty, he fights to keep his face neutral. He doubts he managed it. Of course she would consider duty of little to no consequence. “I understand my duty. Even if I do find something to dislike, it does not negate what I must do. During the war, I could have chosen to side with those loyal to the Targaryen cause; after all, I have a duty to King. But, I chose my brother and my duty to him because he is my brother and my liege-lord. Can you fathom what having to make that choice meant? Do you have any idea what this war has cost? What I did during the war; what I have seen?” What did she know of what it was like to be a traitor knowing that he would have been one, in one way or another? No, she merely would choose to run away from such choices. 

Her chin lifts. Her voice is as cold and bitter as his had been frustrated, “How can you blame me for war. I was not the one responsible and do not speak as though this war had cost me my family.”

He swallows. He refrains from voicing how brother and father would not have been in this city to suffer what King Aerys had done to them had it not been for her part in all of this. Still, his next words are no less true. “I assure you, my thoughts are most unkind with respect to King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar, but, what can the ashes of dead men can give me, if any justification can be? Still, they were not my brother’s betrothed even if there are ties of blood which had bound us.” 

For a moment she looks confused. She repeats the words “blood ties” as if she did not understand what he was referring to. Annoyed, he speaks through gritted teeth, “My father was King Aerys’ cousin. Prince Rhaegar still eloped with you. It had not stopped King Aerys from demanding my brother’s head. I know what they have done, but, I am still here.”

A look of awareness passes over her face, but, it is gone in the next moment; replaced by a look of something he cannot decipher and a deep sigh. She asks, “I suppose you do not want to know my reasons.”

He grimaces. “No. I do not need to know yours any more than I need to know theirs. Did my brother ask?” Robert, certainly, had said nothing to him even if he had. After their argument Robert rarely talked of Lyanna Stark in his presence. 

When looks at him, her hand is once again at her belly. “Robert wants to pretend none of it happened. He hates that I have a child, especially because it is Rhae-Prince Rhaegar’s.” 

He catches the way she almost said Prince Rhaegar’s name so informally and stiffens. “Any man would hate for their betrothed to be carrying another man’s child.”

She looks away. “Why does it matter when Robert does not have to see my child in his household?”

Was the prospect of that supposed to please him? “The child would still exist.” Even if Robert never sets eyes on the child, Stannis is the one who will have to see the child because Elia Martell offered to raise her husband’s child here with her own.

She strikes, “You will not harm my child.”

Enraged, he takes a breath; then another. He still sneers, “My lady, however lowly you might think of my brothers and I, we mean to keep our word. What is to be done with your child has already been decided and I have no reason to interfere with that. Such a ghastly thing would bring dishonor to my family and me.” 

She looks stricken at that and a heavy silence fills the room. Eventually Stannis decides he had been here long enough and gets up to leave. He was positive they would be speaking in circles otherwise and the words cause more trouble than he needs. However, before he could, she raises a hand and stops him, “Lord Stannis.”

“Yes?”

“Why I went with Prince Rhaegar truly does not matter to you, does it?” 

He sighs. He is tired of this. “No, it does not.” Knowing why will not change anything and he doubts any explanation she can give will make him think better of her. 

Apparently, she comes to the same conclusion. “I thought as much. But, I do not suppose it matters, now that the wedding is to go forward.”

“It will go forward.” After everything, he knows it is better to be sure.

Her face twists into anger her face for a moment, but, then she leans back into her seat and nods. “Lord Stannis, I doubt you would believe me, but, I did not mean for any of this to happen; not this way.” 

She sounds earnest, yet, intent changes nothing. Any sort of apology she could make would not, either; she offered none nor would find she had to do so. He supposes she and Robert share that quality, at least. He nods and turns to leave once more. This time she does not stop him. 

That night, like the night before, he does not sleep easy.


	9. Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This authoress has never given birth to a child. As such, the issues related to the subject of childbirth in the chapter are going to be derived from: a combination of theoretical knowledge of the subject in an educational setting; second hand info; and, slight hand-waving of reality for plot purposes.

Ned sits at a table staring at the blank pieces of parchment before him. He has at least three letters to send and he only finished one. He should have finished and sent all of them some time ago, but, he cannot bring himself to complete the task. He does not remember the last time he could say his mind had been at ease. Being in this place does not help. He had spent too much time away from his home and these letters he writes will say that he will stay away for even longer. He does not even know how much longer. 

He would have tried to seek comfort in what passed for a Godswood in the Red Keep, but, the enclosed space, sparse with trees and no weirwoods, reminded him all to well of how this was not his place, as if he needed the reminder. All he knows is he cannot leave here yet.

The letter to Benjen was easy to write, but, he doubts his brother would be pleased at hearing Lyanna is still confined to her bed any more than he would to know that his older brother is still not prepared to come home. There are others at Winterfell to assist his brother, but, Benjen is far too young for the duties he had thrust upon him by his brother’s continued absence. Ned does not have the right to keep delaying returning to their home like this, but, he must, for Lyanna. Benjen would understand and so far has, but, his brother should not have to. 

Even though he finished a letter to his brother, the letter to Robert is much more difficult to write; so much so that he cannot start it. Robert was never one for patience and now Ned has to tell him to wait once more. Pycelle tells him Lyanna will likely have no difficulty in giving birth again, but, he doubts Robert will be mollified by that. He is not very much mollified by it. Robert fought with him, for his family, and Ned has to tell him wait more for the one thing he knows Robert wants most. He can hear the words in Robert’s voice asking right now, “What more do I have to do? How much more must I wait?” Try as he might to not think them, those are the same questions Ned asks himself regularly.

He runs a hand through his hair. He also has to write to Riverrun. After the battles were done some of his men had gone back to Riverrun. Hoster Tully housed them though he had not gone with them. He was grateful, but, he doubts his good-father still thinks well of him, if he ever did. 

Lord Hoster gave him his daughter to wife and despite being in the south for long enough he has yet to see her. He has not seen his son, either, because of how he must remain here with his sister who they all know now had not been taken against her will. Whatever the man thought of Brandon, he had almost been his good son, had Aerys not killed him. Jeffory Mallister, who died with is brother, was the son of Lord Hoster’s bannerman. In his mind, he hears the words uttered by his good-father what now seems like an age ago. “Family. Duty. Honor. Those are my words Lord Stark. It is treason to take up arms against a king, but, the king had not acted honorably while we were to be family and still can be.” Hoster Tully was probably cursing his name now.

Even if Lord Hoster bore him and his sister no ill-will, what would Catelyn think? Being at war can excuse not being there for the birth for one’s own son, but, what would excuse his insistence at seeing his sister give birth and remain away for time after?

Ned got up to pour himself a cup of water. As he drank he could not help but think of how tired he was of being in King’s Landing. He wanted to leave so badly, but, Lyanna could not leave and he could not leave her. He has no family here and to leave her in the care of Robert’s family would be the height of foolishness. It had not taken long after Lord Stannis arrived for him to learn how true Robert’s words about how different he and his younger brother were. For all the love Robert had for him and his sister, his brother had none. On the first night, Lord Stannis had been nothing but coldly formal to him while Lyanna’s mere presence brought out his distaste without prompting. Worse and worse Lyanna knew it.

_“Ned, he does not even try to hide what he feels about me. I am not stupid.”_

_“You are not stupid and do not for one moment think I will never call you that or think of you that way. But, why-“_

_Heat rose on her cheeks. “I am so tired of keeping quiet. I have been here for weeks and cannot leave these rooms without others looking down at me; judging me. Everywhere I go they who do not laugh at me behind my back, whisper. I see their glares. Everyone looks at me as if I was the one who dragged Rhaegar away and forced him to give me a child or that I caused the war. When I do not leave these rooms they laugh about how ‘I hide’. Nothing I could do will please them. Can you imagine what that is like?”_

_The words he wishes to say halt on his tongue. He knows the cruelty men are capable of. He knew that in most ways his sister would have a worse time of it, but, it was not as though being here did not stifle him. These same people who were cruel to her thought him to be little better than a traitor. To those who had been on the other side during the war, he was that. He hated it, but, he could not change their minds. But, telling Lyanna that will only make her guilt worse. He thinks he has done enough to her._

_She holds her stomach and her eyes flash, hissing. “When I get to be free from this place I have to leave my child here. The one good thing to come out of any of this and others take so much pleasure in telling me that at least I get to write letters and visit while someone else raises my fatherless baby. What do I say to that? What can I even do when you were the one to agree to this?”_

_Looking in to her shining eyes, he knew it was not fair, but, what else could he have done? He gave his word and there was more than just Lyanna’s wishes at stake. He closes his eyes; telling himself that brings him no joy, if it ever did._

_His sister knew him too well and was not expecting a response. “Some are only too pleased to tell me how wonderful it is that the Lord of Storm’s End still wants me for a wife, as if I should be grateful. But, until that moment, I still have to be here among these people who I would not be surprised would spit at me if their so-called pretty manners allowed it. The Kingsguard, even the three who know me best, cannot go one moment without looking as thought they would rather be anywhere else than near me. Those closest to you pretend to tolerate me for your sake. Am I supposed to paste a smile on my face and act as though nothing is wrong? Even if I do, someone will complain. It is not fair.”_

_He sighed. He knows. He knows it is not fair, but, no matter how much he wishes he cannot fight everyone. He wanted to help, but, how could he? Nothing he would have done would have prevented others from speaking their minds. He cannot make anyone love Lyanna anymore than he could make them love him. He cannot make things right because he does not know what right was anymore. “No, you are right. It is not fair, but, why would you want to see Lord Stannis at all if you thought he would react badly?”_

_She laughed; a cracked sound that hit him like a shard of glass. “I wanted Robert’s family to at least know me. I did not anticipate this, but, I suppose some would say that is a common failing of mine.” She snorted and though neither spoke of it they knew they were not solely speaking about Stannis Baratheon. “I cannot avoid him forever. I hate what he said, but, he is brave enough to tell me to my face. At least now I do not have to worry about what he thinks of me because I know.” Bile rises in his throat when Lyanna shrugs._

_Though he thought it would somehow make things worse, he asked his sister if he should break the betrothal, but, Lyanna would hear nothing of it. “Ned, this time it was I swore to Robert, not just Father on my behalf. I mean to see it through like I should have done the first time.”_

_Had this been any other time he would have been happy to hear those words from his sister’s lips. “But, what about Stannis?”_

_She patted his arm, as if to comfort him. It did not. “He decided he was going to hate me even before he met me. This way he can truly say I gave him a reason. Even if you do not believe me, it is better I do not have to pretend with him. I doubt I will see him much once I leave here.” To his consternation, she crossed her arms as if to say the matter was at an end._

But, Ned did not leave the matter alone. He could not when before there would have been fury in Lyanna, now there was resignation. Lyanna had enough reason to be unhappy and though she tried not to show it, was. It was up to him to fix what he could though he knew not how to approach Stannis. Lomas Estermont’s insight proved to be of little assistance. _“He had been serious from the cradle. After the deaths of my niece and Lord Steffon, outside of Renly or the old Maester I wager, it is not in him to match the charm which comes to Robert easily. This war…the responsibility…he is harder than men of his age would usually be.” Though the older man looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else, he added, “His words are sharp, Lord Stark, but, my nephew understands his duty well.”_

The man's words had not proved comforting when he finally did approach Lord Stannis.

_“What can I do for you Lord Stark?” Robert’s mind was easy for him to know when his brother’s is almost alien to him. He cannot decipher if Stannis is annoyed or curious. Given what Lyanna told him, it was both._

_He does not even know where to begin. Others did not think kindly of Lyanna and Stannis Baratheon was not just anyone. If she had heard the whispers and the japes, so had he. Lyanna had not been wrong when it came to others who were not enemies. For all how Ethan Glover tried for nonchalance when both he and Lyanna were in his presence, he failed. What can Ned expect from Stannis Baratheon when his own bannerman cannot look at his sister without admitting to being haunted with the knowledge of living while Brandon and the others died in their disastrous effort to find out her whereabouts? Jon loves him, but, the memory of Elbert and love for Robert hang in the air such that his foster-father seems only capable of a cold politeness towards his sister._

_He is unsure if his actions will worsen things, yet, he has to try. “I wish to speak to you of my sister…”_

_Ned braces himself when Stannis’ lips purse together. He is startled when the other man asks, “What of Lady Stark? Has she taken unwell?” Of all the things said, Ned had not expected this._

_“No.”_

_Ned refrains from thinking too much about the frown growing on Stannis’ face. “Has she made overtures to anyone indicating the betrothal between my brother and herself is no longer to her liking?”_

_The unspoken ‘again’ Ned hears all too loudly and it takes all he has to remain in the room seeing the other man’s look of consternation. “No.”_

_“Both Robert and I, and I am sure Lady Stark would agree, my involvement with preparations for the wedding would be unnecessary when all employed in Storm’s End would be available for whatever needs doing. If she is of good health and the wedding is to go forward and it is far too early to discuss the arrangements for travel to Storm’s End, then, how could I assist you?”_

_Be kinder to my sister, he thinks. He suspects to hope for that is folly when the man is hardly kind to him. He grimaced, more sure the other man will take nothing he says well. “I believe there were words exchanged between the both of you and I wish to clear up any… misapprehensions.” He does not even know what to call it, let alone try to rectify this._

_The other man’s face flares in anger. When he speaks his tone is clipped and entirely too unwelcoming. “There is no misapprehension between us, Lord Stark. We are quite aware of the state of things between us. As such, I am at a loss as to what there is to discuss.”_

_Had this been any other person or any other circumstance he would have valued such frankness, but, all he is capable is incredulity, “You are to be family to my sister and you make no pains to hide your dislike of the situation. I am giving my sister into your care. How can you say there is nothing to discuss?”_

_Ned was certain the expression he was seeing never graced Robert’s face. “As you say we are to be family, but, you are not giving your sister to my care. You are to my brother’s. It is his opinion which matters, not mine.”_

_Ned fought to resist biting his lip, trying not to lose whatever control he has on his fraying temper. “How could you say such things to her and expect me to say nothing?”_

_“Your sister asked me questions and I am not a liar, Lord Stark.” How this man can look as though he is the one who should be stifling is irritation is beyond Ned’s comprehension._

_Ned feels his hands clench into fists. “You know that is not what I mean. She is to be your brother’s wife and you cannot even temper your disdain.”_

_Ned never thought it was possible, yet, Lord Stannis’ voice became colder. “Why should I? She was to be my brother’s lady before she and my, ah, cousin took their sojourn…” The disgust in the voice and the twist of the other man’s lips nearly caused Ned’s shoulders to fall, “Then, the matter of my potential for disdain did not matter to your lady sister. It does not matter to Robert now. My feelings on the subject are irrelevant when there are things that need doing which will be done. Why must you question me when you know what I have to say will not be to your liking?”_

_Ned sighed. Robert could be stubborn, but, Robert was never this frustrating. “Would you deny your words are cruel? How can I trust your actions will not be?”_

_Ned had never seen a man be so indignant. “I think you know there are far crueler things in this world than words, Lord Stark.” The other man sighs deeply and looks away. “Though it is clear to all how she disregarded her duty to the house she knew was to be hers once before, I still accept your sister as my brother’s wife and Lady of Storm’s End even when it does not sit well with me. When you and Lady Lyanna get to leave I must remain here where I am called a traitor. I became one because I put my duty to my brother ahead of my duty to my king. You may think me craven all you like, Lord Stark, but, what I have said I did not say to others. Do not ask me to become a liar to those who, as you say, would be family when it was for family I became a traitor.”_

The best thing which could be said of this was that no one else in King’s Landing outside of Lord Lomas knew of how Lord Stannis truly felt. It certainly helped how most saw Lord Stannis as short-tempered and paid him no mind outside of his duties. As it was, the closer Lyanna had gotten to birthing the child he rightly had more important concerns than the sentiments of her betrothed’s brother. 

He grimaces thinking of the time. He was denied seeing her until she was finished with the birthing. He felt powerless, then. In many ways he feels powerless still. 

When he arrived there he had been told brother or not, he was to go no further than the sitting room. Pycelle, the midwife, Elia Martell, and enough other ladies, were already ensconced inside, they said; their words and actions telling him all he needed to know. The only men usually allowed in to birthing chamber were maesters and sometimes husbands and Ned was neither. He almost ignored conventions, but, what did he know of what went on during a birthing? The last time Ned had been in a house where a birth was occurred was during Benjen’s birth. If he could not help and he did not know how, he would just be in the way. So he waited in the sitting room, waiting for hours. It almost took a day. 

He remembers flinching every time a lady ventured to and from the birthing chamber going about her tasks, determinedly not looking at him while he tried fervently not to think of the reasons why one of the items frequently taken into the room had been fresh linens while soiled ones were taken out. Even now Ned can hear the screams he could and did little about. Most of all he remembers how his imagination flew more wildly than he thought capable and the reality of it proved to be terrible enough. 

_The lady he followed in to the birthing chamber stepped aside and he did not pretend he did not gasp in surprise and fear. He barely registered the soft cries of a child because the scent of blood filled his nose. His eyes were fixed on where Lyanna lay on a bed with her eyes closed. He drew closer. Though it was clear they tried to clean her body, she was drenched in sweat, her hair matted to her forehead, and the scent of blood clung to her. This was not his Lyanna. She looked so pale. Lyanna looked impossibly young; far too young and delicate. His heart seized for a moment thinking when he looked upon his sister he saw death. The Maester pressing a wet cloth to her forehead was the only reason he knew different. She shivered, but, did little else._

_He called out her name. Nothing. No one said anything. He barked to no one and everyone in the room, “What happened? What is this?”_

_From the corner of one eye he saw Elia Martell moving towards him. When no answer came from any corner he rounded on her. The only thing stopping him from yelling was her visage. Her skin was tinged with grey, her eyes were wide, and her lips were pinched._

_His staring was interrupted with a harried answer of “Fever, my lord” coming from the Maester, now pressing cloth to Lyanna’s neck, who did not bother to turn around._

_Ned moved to step as close as possible to the bed. Looking over the Maester’s shoulder, his voice sounding weak to his own ears, he asks, “Fever? She was always healthy. How could a fever cause this?” Even as he asked the answer came to him. He cannot believe and does not wish to. He looks away as if to deny what is in front of him. His sister was always strong and he will not lose her like this. He shakes; it had only been so long since he got her back. He lost Father and Brandon already. He lost far too much to lose his sister to a fever._

_The Maester finally looks at him to frown. “Fever can happen to any woman in the child-bed; healthy or not and she is young.”_

_Never before had Ned felt the urge to shake a man so severely. “Why does she not speak or move? What did you do to her? No fever causes this.”_

_Now, Elia Martell spoke up, “Dreamless Sleep.”_

_He frowned. “What? Why give her that?”_

_She looked at Lyanna and something passed across her expression; her face ashen. The Maester says again, “Too much milk of poppy will do little good and I gave her all I dared. We had to give her something for the pain and the fever needs time to break.”_

_Time will not fix this. “Will she- “He stops, fearing somehow if finishing the sentence will make what thinks true._

_The Maester looks toward Elia Martell first, the both of them far too grim. “It took too much out of her. She needs the rest if she will get well again.” Ned swallows heavily. ‘If’ not ‘when’ spoken in mournful tones tells him what they think._

_Slowly, once more, he brings himself to look at Lyanna lying there and he feels sick and has to look away. The Martell woman’s face is sad and imploring and he does not want to hear more, but, he knew it never stopped her before. “I beg of you, let the Maester do his work.”_

_He feels her slender wrap an arm around his. Not caring of manners, he goes to shake it off, but, her words cause him to flinch instead. “The Maester knows what he does and will do everything he can. You have your nephew to see.”_

_He raised his head, startled. “What?” Seeing Lyanna like this, he all but forgot what he was here for._

_She nods solemnly, “A nephew, Lord Stark.” He glances at Lyanna, asleep and silent, and his heart clenches, but, he cannot fight the smile when a woman comes towards him with his sister’s son. His expression freezes when Elia Martell is handed the child. Bile rises in his throat at her serene expression. When she looks up, her face was soft, but, she tried to smile when he would rather she did not bother. “Come hold him, Lord Eddard”, she says. He looks at Lyanna lying there, unmoving. He has to turn away and he extends his arms. This is all wrong. Lyanna should be the one holding out her child to him and it should be “Ned” not “Lord Eddard”, but, it is not. Gods, it is not._

_He lurches forward, torn between wanting to hold his nephew because his sister cannot and not wanting because he violently fights the urge to take the child and run. Though he hates himself for it, he just holds his arms out. He looks down to see a healthy-looking child with tufts of dark hair. He does not know how to feel about this child with his looks who is both light and heavy in his arms._

_Once the child, with its eyes closed, is settled, it feels almost right, but, feeling eyes upon him he looks at the other woman. He does not know how she feels or what she thinks and he does not care, not truly, but, while she remains mute he knows what she wishes to say._

_He glances at Lyanna once more. He does not want to think of it, but, he must. “Did she-did she give him a name?”_

_Her face falls. When she speaks again, he strains to hear it. “Did she tell you what name she likes?” That the woman has sense not to say, ‘liked’ brings him no respite. He tightens his grip on the child and he looks at his sister once more._

_He stands in front of Lyanna’s bed and says firmly, “Lyanna will name him.”_

_He does not know if Lyanna will wake to give her son a name. If Lyanna cannot keep her son, Ned wants to give her this, at least. He will not forgive himself otherwise. He cannot._

_For one moment he thinks the Martell woman will argue, but then, “Very well”. The expectant wet-nurse steps forward. His hands twitch before he gives the woman his nephew while trying to ignore the pity he saw in their eyes._

In the days after he spent most of his time at her bedside praying and worrying for Lyanna’s rather than taking joy in the birth of his nephew. Lyanna would not have liked it, but, he thought he lost her once. Only this time there was no coming back from death. By the time the fever broke and she awoke, his nephew was installed in the nursery along with his brother and sister. 

Now, he pushes the papers away and gets up to go to the nursery. He will finish the letters later.

* * *

He is thankful it is mid-morning; Elia Martell will not be in the nursery at this time. Even if she was kind enough to her dead husband’s son they were not friends and he rarely knows what to say to her. Father and Brandon would have, but, they are dead. 

As with all the times before this, though he has yet to enter the nursery he takes a breath to calm himself. Upon entry into the set of rooms he is greeted with an exclamation of, “Lord Wolf”.

Though a smile tugs at his lips at that and the high-pitched giggle, he stiffens at the false cough which certainly had not come from Princess Rhaenys, the day nurse, or the two Kingsguard present.

There were always two Kingsguard in the nursery and today it was Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne. It was reasoned three children of royal blood would do well to have more than one’s Kingsguard about. Since Lyanna awoke he came to the nursery and he would take his nephew to her because the Maester forbade her from leaving her bed. One would always accompany him to her rooms. While he liked to this is just an added measure of security, his own experiences here and Stannis Baratheon’s words never allow him to forget the true reason for it. 

Today, however, it was not the Kingsguard whose presence surprised him, it was Oberyn Martell’s. The cold in his dark eyes tells Ned just enough about his thoughts on his reason for being present, but, the man remains thankfully silent. As far as Ned was aware, the Dornishman stayed away from his nephew and did little to acknowledge him. It suited Ned perfectly.

He considers himself fortunate when the man turns almost immediately to Ser Jaime and asks if he has any duty the next morning. Ned cannot understand why Ser Arthur frowned when Prince Oberyn next asks Ser Jaime to spar when the pair did so regularly. Then again, whenever he had cause to see them spar Ned thought it looked less like practice and more like a scene on the battlefield. Ser Jaime, looking oddly resolute, answered in the affirmative, if stiffly. Ned thought it well passing odd for those who would be family to show such fierceness in sport, but, both of the men seemed to relish the opportunity to trounce each other routinely. Grimly, he thinks of his and Lyanna’s interactions with Stannis Baratheon and decided to not think of the relations between these scions of the Martells and the Lannisters.

It was no small relief when the man takes his leave almost immediately after he runs a hand over his nephew’s head and embracing his niece.

Before he could stop himself, he observed, “Prince Oberyn is usually not here in the nursery during this time of day.” 

It was Ser Jaime who answered, rather sharply. “My sister and others of our family will be arriving within the fortnight. The Prince’s family is to arrive shortly after.”

The thought of the wedding being so close at hand forces him to think his own hurried wedding and another wedding which has yet to happen.

To shake himself from those thoughts he asks, “I take it the wedding preparations are well underway.” 

“They are” comes the reply from the bride’s brother. He continues, “The Princess Regent and my father have yet to work out all the details at present, in addition to the wedding day feast, there is to be a ball and a tourney, at least.” 

Ned started. Given the events surrounding the last one they all attended, why would the Martells or the Lannisters consent to a tourney? He simply hopes this affair is lacking in surprises, if he must attend any portion of it. “I see.”

Saying nothing more he moves towards his nephew’s crib, next to his silver-haired older brother’s. He looks into it, seeing a dark cap of hair so like his own. In the end, he had been the one to think of the child’s name. 

_She is propped up by pillows when he enters the room._

_She still looks pale and her eyes are sunken in. Her hair is a tangled, limp mass. She smiles, but, it crushes him to see it is not a smile full of joy as it is tiredness._

_He takes the chair next to her bed. “I am happy to see you awake.” Alive._

_“The Maester and that midwife confine me to this bed. They tell me I must regain my strength.”_

_“They are being cautious.” Such a thing would annoy his sister and he sees it does. However, he wanted nothing more than for his sister to be well again and could not disagree with their advice._

_“They say you are recovering well.” He hopes that sounds encouraging. “Other than this, how do you feel?”_

_She says she is well enough, but, when she sighs he cannot entirely believe her. Then, he thinks of the alternatives and he does not argue when he hoped and prayed for her just to live._

_It is not long before the begin speaking as they once did. It gives him so much joy to see her brighten the more they speak. But, as with anything else of late, any sort of happiness he manages to have fades too quickly._

_“He does not have a name.”_

_Not expecting her words, they shock him. “What?”_

_She laughs hollowly. “My son has gone for days without a proper name. You should have done it, Ned.”_

_In desperation, he takes her hand. “I waited for you to wake.”_

_He is dismayed when she presses her lips together and avoids looking directly at him. “What if I never did?”_

_He dreamt and was haunted by the possibility. He dreaded it for days. As fiercely as he could manage, he says, “But, you did. You are here. You should be the one to give your son a name.”_

_She smiles bitterly, “I cannot keep my child, but, you want me to name him.”_

_His eyes snap to his sister’s. For a moment she looks startled at her own words and she presses into the hand around hers. “I should not have said that. I am sorry.” The earnestness in her expression does nothing to dull the sense of wrongness which never leaves him, and now his sister is comforting him though she is right._

_He shakes his head, wildly. “Do not be sorry. If anyone should be sorry it is me.”_

_She mirrors his action. “It is not your fault. I knew it would happen.” She smiles, or tries to and something like a vice grips him. “It does not matter now. You should have named him. I do not know what name to give him.”_

_Unsure of what she means and it pains him to think how that is something which has become routine, he hesitatingly asks, “Is there any name you like?”_

_She looks away again. “I keep thinking of names I cannot give him.”_

_With that answer, he has a thought, but, he is reluctant in asking and dredging things up best left forgotten. But, no matter his motivations for waiting, her child should have a name. “Was there any name you and Prince Rhaegar thought of?”_

_Had this been any other reason he would have been more than happy to see color return to Lyanna’s face. “I think he wanted a daughter.” No, then._

_She smiles that bitter smile again. “I cannot name him for his father. I would never name him for others in his family. People laugh at me. I won’t give them more of a reason when my son is a Waters.”_

_He grimaces though it shames him to acknowledge, if only to himself, he is relieved. Even if his nephew was a Snow, he would dislike the prospect of his nephew bearing a Targaryen name. Not a few moons had passed and Targaryens had been his enemy. Even when the man is dead, it seemed wrong to give his son his name. He doubts he would be the only one to believe so. Rhaegar’s widow had been kind to the child, but, who knows how she would react when the child bears her dead husband’s name? The Queen Dowager, still at Dragonstone, would have more than one though on the subject. He has no desire to ignite Robert’s and Stannis’ fury by endorsing such a gesture. Finally, Lyanna was not wrong about the cruelty of the people of King’s Landing. It was a wise course of action._

_Whatever little relief is there to be had does not last long when he hears what else his sister has to say, “I cannot name him for Father or Brandon, either.”_

_The worst of it is how Lyanna does not look slightly hopeful for him to say otherwise. He still tries, though his mind screams rejection of the possibility. “That would-”_

_She shakes her head and there are tears welling up in her eyes. She whispers, “No. I cannot even think about it; not now, not anymore. If anyone’s sons should have those names yours should.”_

_Even more shame floods through him at the reprieve her words give him. Every time he thinks of them it is as though they die again and again. He does not think his grief for them will lessen, let alone ever be gone. His sister feels the same loss, but, he is far too ashamed at how he cannot prevent unkind thoughts best left unvoiced. He cannot even bring himself to talk about them to Lyanna most times. Even if he was not unencumbered so it certainly would do not good for the child to bear the names of men only dead such a short time ago. The child would grow to know how they died and he would know it living in the place they died. It would be too cruel._

_She whispers, “Think of a name, Ned.”_

_He frowns. “Are you sure? Is that what you truly want?”_

_Solemn, she nods, “Yes.”_

_“Is there any name from the North you do not like?”_

_Smiling faintly she nods, “Any except for Torrhen.”_

_Despite the circumstance, he laughs. He is far too pleased at this reminder of the Lyanna he was accustomed to and hoped to see more of again._

_For some time they are both silent until he exclaims, “I have a name.”_

_He is too happy to see his sister’s curiosity. “What?”_

_“Father was named for a King in the North.”_

_She frowns at him, “Ned, I said-”_

_He holds a hand up, slightly abashed by beginning that way. “I listened. I meant to say that Rickard’s father-"_

_He sees understanding and gratefulness he is unsure deserves dawn on her face. She finishes, “was Jon Stark.”_

He looks down at the child he named and for a moment he hesitates. While Rhaegar Targaryen did not leave his youngest child with much, he left him with his indigo eyes. Those eyes stare back at him. Though he hates himself for it, Ned cannot help feeling thankful he agreed to Elia Martell’s terms. This was his sister’s son, but, seeing those eyes is too painful a reminder. No amount of wishing the child had his grey eyes or even the blue of Robert’s will make it so or change the past. Still, he takes up the child into his arms. 

Thankfully, the child does not take to being moved with too much of a fuss. As he adjusts his nephew in his arms he hears someone moving towards him. 

“Lord Stark?” 

He nearly sighs, seeing how it is Ser Jaime is to act as his shadow for the duration of his visit with Lyanna. 

“Shall we go, Lord Stark?” Ned felt a stab of annoyance at the man’s smirk.

Before he could say anything, Princess Rhaenys questions, “Go after a story, Ser Jaime?” 

Ned hoped the knight would agree if it meant the task of escorting him to Lyanna’s rooms were given to Ser Arthur instead even though he dislikes that almost as much. 

Ned watches as the plea was met with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow. “My Princess, I will tell you one…” When the man gets to one knee in front of the child, the girl looks hopeful and Ned is as hopeful for different reasons, “after I return. Only then.”

Ned frowned when the following question of “Why” from the child gets a laugh from the man. The day after Jon was born this knight had been on duty and Ned entered the nursery to see this man holding his nephew. Ned had wanted nothing more than to snatch the child from the man’s hands. Now, there was this. There was much to be said about having ease with one’s charges, but, this was something else entirely and he did not like it.

“My Princess, if I did tell you a story now, which one would you ask for?” She holds up the black cat she is so fond of. 

The knight smiles. “You know all of the stories I know of the Black Dread.” 

The words, “I like them”, come from the child. 

Ned dislikes how the knight smiles at the reverence in the girl’s voice. “I know you do, Princess. You know them almost as well as I do.” Ned likes that even less. “Certainly, you want a new story?” What was this?

“You have a new one!” To his chagrin the formerly forlorn child is now nearly bouncing with excitement. 

The knight goes to stand. “I do. I know for a fact your Septa will be here for lessons very soon.” The knight looks at her, mock stern, at the girl’s pleading expression. “If the Septa is pleased there will be a second story for you.” Ser Arthur looks incredulous as Ned is at that. 

“Promise?” The girl’s eyes brighten and Ned starts to imagine a future where a very different child will look towards the knight in adoration and something bitter in him twists at the thought.

The other man laughs again, “You have my word, Princess, as always.” 

“Thank you, Ser Jaime!” While the day nurse looks on indulgently at the sheer joy in the girl’s face Ser Arthur looks stricken before his expression shifts towards the complete blankness Ned is accustomed to. He wonders why the other knight says nothing if this disturbs him.

To his consternation when the child asks if they will return soon the younger knight assures her they will ‘soon enough’. Then Ser Jaime turns towards him; that damnable smirk back on his face. “Let us go, Lord Stark.”

* * *

“It would have been no trouble if you wished to stay behind with Princess Rhaenys.”

Ned hoped the man does not recognize the meaning behind his words. With the way the man smiles at him he doubts it. “I could not ask Ser Arthur to take my turn when there was no need to.” The other man shrugs.

“How often do you tell the Princess stories?” The true question is of why. 

The man has the temerity to look at him as if he was the one acting oddly. “Every so often, if she desires them.”

He presses, “Since when?” 

“Since before the war, I suppose.” He tries not to bristle knowing which incidents would have allowed this circumstance to exist.

“You thought it best to continue the practice.” 

The man looks amused, now. “I never thought to discontinue it. It pleases her well enough.” He saw that, for certain, Ned thought, annoyed.

“Will you not be reprimanded for refusing her?”

Once again, the other man’s smile turns into that smirk Ned hates so much. “It was not a refusal, Lord Stark. Her Septa was, in fact, due to arrive. I doubt she, or her mother would be displeased at the prospect of the little princess behaving herself. ” He frowned when the man laughs softly. “She will get both stories. You need not fear on that score.” 

Ned detests the way these Southron men speak particularly when he knows of the insult in the words. “The others of the Kingsguard do not do this.”

He could have also done without the other man’s laughter. “It is not required of Kingsguard to be story-telling nursemaids.”

He knows better, but, still, “And, yet, you are?”

Ser Jaime raises an eyebrow. “I am many things. I also have a little brother with an interest in dragons. The tales I tell, my brothers of the Kingsguard know Princess Rhaenys likes to hear. It makes my watch in the nursery less dull, besides.”

He does not bother hiding his incredulity. “You tell stories because you are bored?” 

The man shrugs, “A man can guard only so much when two of one’s three charges sleep for hours and do very little when they do not. There is not much else which interests a girl that age with only her infant brothers for company. It keeps her occupied. It would not do for the Princess to engage in mischief, would it?”

The reply annoyed him and not only because of the easy manner in which the words were said. It was taxing speaking to a Lannister, particularly when they mock you. Did this man take nothing seriously? However, that was not the extent of his ire. He has a right to be concerned with this familiarity the knight displays with the children. 

He stops walking for a moment when Jon lets out a cry. He rocks Jon hoping to soothe him. If there is nothing else, he at least learned how to calm a child for a short while.

When Jon does settle once more, Ned continues, “The Princess Regent lets this continue.” 

The man smoothly replies, “Nurses and Septas will come and go. Even when Princess Elia has her own stories to tell her daughter she has other responsibilities. When the uncle returns his home the Kingsguard will remain.” 

Ned grimaces at the pointed statements. What applies to Prince Oberyn applies to him. He may despair of it, but, with their father dead and the men of the council busy with other things, it stands to reason the Kingsguard will have a more active role in the lives Prince Rhaegar’s children. “You see yourself as responsible for them.”

He gets a dismissive snort. The knight steps closer to him. “I am Kingsguard, aren't I? Princess Rhaenys, King Aegon, and, now, your nephew, Lord Stark are my responsibility. Such a thing will not change for as long as I draw breath.” Even more than the man’s demeanor it is that fact which irritates him most.

* * *

It was a small mercy the knight did not follow him into the innermost chamber of Lyanna’s rooms. Though they all knew Ned would not keep the child from the nursery for very long, all the Kingsguard took this tact. They can call it duty all they like, but, Ned knew better. 

He waits for the maid to leave the room before he steps further into the chambers. He does not like how neither he nor Lyanna they could not speak plainly because the door was still open. He tries to pay it no mind when Lyanna greets him. Then, she holds her hands out, eager to have her child in her arms. He hands Jon over. It is not long before the child is settles and for a moment Ned finds himself looking at his sister’s face. He does not think he will ever become tired of seeing his sister smile as she presses a kiss to her son’s head. 

His reverie is broken when Lyanna, with her eyes still on her son, says, “The Maester came by this morning.” He nodded. It was not news to him. The man checked on her frequently enough. 

She does not look as happy as she seemed only a moment ago. His brows furrow, now starting to get worried. He looks at her intently, hoping her condition has not worsened. “What had he said? Is everything well?”

Now, Lyanna looks up. “He says I am recovering nicely. I will be allowed out of this bed soon.” 

At the small smile on her lips Ned feels the beginning of a smile play at his. “That is good. You say it is far too boring to remain in these rooms.”

She huffs out a laugh. “I still am not to leave this bed for a while yet, for a week. I cannot even go outside. He says it is a precaution, even though I am doing better than he expected.”

“A week is not that long.” He hopes it sounds encouraging.

She shakes her head. “No, I do not suppose it is.” 

He remembers his earlier thoughts about how others saw her. Was it any wonder she was not so enthused to leave these rooms? But, he suspected there was more to it. There usually always was and the wistful tone tells him so. “What else has he said?”

She presses her son closer to her. She looks back down and for a moment he feels cold pass through him. The windows were closed and it was not winter here. Why does he find himself dreading what his sister would say?

Still looking at Jon, she did not meet his eyes. “He said I should be perfectly healthy within the turns of two moons.” 

Ned has to look away. When the Maester claims she is perfectly healthy then the hospitality of King’s Landing extended to the Starks will end. He yearned to leave King’s Landing since he arrived. Once she had come here Lyanna wanted the same. Yet, looking at his sister and her child he knows the closer it is to their leaving the closer they are to leaving without Jon.

As if he could sense the distress of those around him, Jon lets out a cry. Ned turns to look at the door. He knows Ser Jaime heard the sound, as well. It certainly was better to see the knight enter the room than watching Lyanna pressing another kiss to Jon’s forehead knowing it will not long before his sister returns her son to his hands.

* * *

After he deposited his nephew into the nursery he could not help but sigh before slowly making his way back to his rooms. He plans on going back to Lyanna's rooms later that evening, but, for now, he still had those letters to write.


	10. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ser Arthur Dayne’s brother isn’t given a name in canon iirc, here he’ll be given the name Alnair which means “the bright”.
> 
> A/N #2: House Fowler of Skyreach has Wardenship of the Prince’s Pass in Dorne.

Arthur straightened. He was close to the moment he anticipated for some time. It was a moment he equally dreaded. He sees Alnair and Ashara and he knows they see him, but, his brother and sister are standing at a respectful distance to let the Martell siblings have their reunion first. His family is here, along with half of the nobility of Dorne. They are not here for him.

Still, his presence is garnering some looks and so he turns his attention to the Martell siblings. The last time he saw these three together had been when Princess Elia married Prince Rhaegar. The Ruling Prince of Dorne looked severe, he thinks. Then again, years older than them all, Prince Doran had always seemed that way. He strongly suspected he would never know the prince of his people the way others know him; not now. 

Prince Oberyn who looks suitably buoyant, but, Arthur knew had the arriving guests been from anywhere besides Dorne or, perhaps, the Westerlands, Oberyn and his pretty betrothed would rather be elsewhere, likely, preferring to be in the company of Ser Jaime. 

The Princess seemed excited, not only to see her brother. He was sure Ashara missed her just as much. Looking at Ashara he sees the man standing next to her; his sister’s new husband who was not so new to him or to King’s Landing. His sister, Ashara, wedded to Jon Connington, of all people. He had not been sure they liked each other much, yet, they were wedded all the same. As if that was not enough, and though he tries not to think bitterly of his own kin, he only learned of the wedding after it happened. In a letter, no less. He fights a sigh. The events surrounding the war seemed to have changed many things, including, it seems, his place in his own family.

He swallowed thickly as Prince Doran, done with greeting his siblings and the newly arrived Prince Viserys, turned towards him. “Ser Arthur.”

“My Prince, it is good to see you well.”

‘His prince’ he thinks ruefully. Doran Martell was the prince of Dorne, but, he had never been Arthur’s prince. When Arthur took up the cloak, there had been a Ruling Princess while Prince Lewyn welcomed him to the Kingsguard as a ‘brother’. Arthur had, in truth, one prince and he had not been a Dornish one. 

“And you? Is all well?” A general, unobtrusive question which the other man asked Ser Gerold. It is a question which causes him to look into his brother’s unflinching gaze even though Arthur thinks more than one of his countrymen look back at him with less geniality he would have once expected. 

Turning back to Prince Doran, he says simply, “Yes.” 

Prince Doran sharply nodded and moved along to greet others in the household he knew. Considered far milder in manner than his younger brother, Arthur knew enough to see the dismissal for what it was. The knowledge of how he will be treated no differently than any other Kingsguard stings even when he expected it.

They all knew what he had done for his prince. His own recriminations had not satisfied Prince Oberyn even if he thawed towards him considerably. There was not much of anything between Princess Elia and him beyond Princess and Kingsguard. He doubts that will satisfy the prince of his people, other Dornishmen, or even his own family.

He stiffens when he hears Jon ask leave of Princess Elia to pay his respects in the Targaryen crypts. Jon had been a friend to Prince Rhaegar and as much as Princess Elia acquiesced wholeheartedly, Arthur wishes he made the request in private. 

It is on the heels of that thought when Alnair steps in front of him. “Arthur.” His brother holds out a hand. He hopes his brother only gave him his hand because they were in public and this was not the time for something more demonstrative. He does not want to ask his brother if he was no longer considered worthy of an embrace. It was foolish of him, yet, he thinks he might not get the answer he hopes for.

“Arthur, you look well.” His brother might as well be speaking to a stranger or an empty headed courtier. 

He tries to smile. “Thank you. And you? How was the journey? I only see Ashara. I do not see your lady wife. I looked for her. Did she not come?”

His brother nods. “She remains in Starfall, with Allyria. The journey was otherwise fine.”

Is this how it is to be from now on? “I would have liked to see them.” 

Arthur almost regrets the words when Alnair nods sharply. “Allyria is too young to travel.” 

He clenches his jaw before he says something he regrets. Perhaps it was true, but, younger children than his sister have traveled. Or was that just his brother’s way of saying that it was for Alnair to decide which of his family members do and Arthur no longer has that right?

“How are they?” He can ask at least. 

Finally, a true smile from his brother. “They are both well and Allyria is a happy enough child.” A good-sister he rarely sees and a too young sister who likely has little or no memory of him. His mind supplies the question, ‘Whose fault is that?’

Alnair turns back to look at the crowd. “We will speak later.” He does not try to stop his brother, though he almost wants to.

Next come Ashara and her new husband. Ashara received a kiss from him and when she says it is good to see him he believes it. Still, it was just as uncomfortable as seeing Alnair. “My sister. A married woman now. Congratulations to you both. I wish I could have been there.” 

He was not solely speaking of the wedding. After Harrenhall, Ashara had been sent back to Starfall and he dutifully remained behind. After, Rhaegar needed him and so he went with him. He proved his loyalty and remained there until he was called back to King’s Landing. He understood the formality between his brother and himself, but, Ashara…

Ashara smiles though Arthur sees the sadness in it. “We missed you. I missed you, but, we knew that we were to be here soon. There was-we did not wish to wait. We are here now.” The tone and the look she shares with her husband tell him that they are withholding something. ‘Of course they are’, he thinks though it is unkind of him. The war ended some time ago. Why only come now?

Her husband murmurs a general pleasantry at him, but, there was something closed-off in his expression. Arthur tried not to think of what else Connington could say, if he says anything at all. He heard about how disastrous as Jon’s efforts turned out to be and how it lead to his exile. At the least everyone knew he fought in the war. Arthur did not though he did what Prince Rhaegar wanted of him. He wonders if being unable to be there for their prince when he needed it wears on Jon like it does him. 

He simply nods back and tries not to feel relieved when they, too, move on.

* * *

“Alnair, I hope I am not disturbing you.” Here he was a man grown, and he can barely breathe while he waits anxiously for his brother to say something. There was nothing to fear, but, this area of the Red Keep was flooded with Dornishmen and Arthur was the recipient of more than one uncomfortable, if not hostile, look as he made his way here. 

“No, you are not. Come, sit, Arthur.” Arthur plops in the seat indicated. The response was far too brief and it accompanies a searching look. “How are you?”

Would his brother speak to him as anything but a stranger? “I am well. Are your lodgings comfortable?”

Alnair smiles faintly. “The Princess is very generous.” Arthur hesitates, trying not to think of possible underlying implications of the statement. Alnair, like other lords, was equipped with the ability to say one thing and mean more than what he says. “You are not here to talk to me about my lodgings or my comfort.”

“No, I am not. You are my brother. Why would I not come to see you? Especially, as you have not tried to see me.” It was not entirely an accusation, but, not even Ashara sought him out much and not one Dornishman ventured near his sleeping cell. 

He stiffens at the next look Alnair gives him. “This house will host a wedding filled with and you have responsibilities that I do not wish to keep you from.” From anyone else that would have sounded accommodating. Arthur knew better.

“I will never be so occupied that I would refuse to see my brother.” 

Even as he says the words he fights not to brace himself for what, without a doubt, will be unpleasant. “You were in Dorne for the better part of a year not a few months ago. You knew where I was. Your duties prevented your seeing me then.” 

He bites back an angry retort. He knew this was to come even if he prayed fervently to avoid it. Prince Rhaegar had not explicitly denied him the ability go to Starfall and while he knows he could have gone, _should have gone_ , he had not. “I could not come to you. You know why.”

The questions which would have been asked of him…There was no avoiding them now.

“Were you frightened?” Whose wrath would he, of all people, be frightened of? No, fear did not keep him away from Starfall. 

“No.”

“Were you ashamed?” 

“Yes. No. Both.” The Kingsguard in him will forever insist there was nothing to be ashamed of. The Dornishman in him wants to strangle the Kingsguard.

He supposes it was only the passage of time which caused his brother to look curious and frustrated rather than outright furious. “Then why?” 

“I did not want to put you in a delicate position.” It was a weak excuse, if a valid one. If he showed up on Alnair’s doorstep his brother would be forced to act. He knew his brother well enough to know that Alnair would not see things as Prince Rhaegar did.

His brother snorted. “There was nothing ‘delicate’ about the position you put me in.”

“What position could you have been in? You did not know anything.”

There was that look again and Alnair makes an aborted gesture with his hand. “Precisely, I did not know anything. Arthur, you put me in the position of looking like an incompetent fool or since you were not the only one, I should say you helped to do it.”

This shakes him. “How?”

His brother laughs cruelly. “You have to ask, Arthur?” His brother smiles, but, it was a twisted thing, which before the war, he never imagined would have been directed at him and wished it never was again. “What else can a man be called when he does not even know his brother is nearby with the Crown Prince, two and later three members of the Kingsguard, and a daughter of a high-lord?” 

Arthur exhales a sharp breath. Princess Elia never spoke of it while Prince Oberyn’s recounting of this had been taxing enough. He could remove himself from that. This was his brother.

Slowly, deliberately Alnair begins again, “I know what they say of us Dornish here, but, we not heathens. Taking other men’s women, with or without their family’s consent or knowledge, anywhere is unacceptable.” Of course, his brother would start with that. Why not? It was the beginning of this mess. 

“The girl went willingly.” Even as he says it he wishes he could take the words back. He had no right to entirely push blame on the girl, even if she had been willing. That would be far too easy and disingenuous. By the time she learned of her brother and father’s fates she lost much of her interest in the fantasy being with Prince Rhaegar weaved and was too late for her to go anywhere. 

It shamed him, but, he could barely look at Lyanna Stark because of it. Elia Martell can take Rhaegar’s youngest into her arms while he finds it difficult to look into that child’s eyes. It was not just his prince Arthur failed.

Though his voice remains low, Alnair’s left fist clenches. “Tell that to anyone who believed her to be abducted. Tell that to her dead father and brother. Tell that to those who went to war after Aerys got his hands on her family.” Yet another thing to find fault in him for. Did they think he liked sneaking out to find Lady Lyanna and travelling into Dorne like a thief? Or that he cherished his time being holed up in that Tower after Ser Gerold gave them that grizzly news? Did they think he felt nothing when before Prince Rhaegar went into battle he ordered them to stay behind? Had he even gone to war with Prince Rhaegar, perhaps he would still be alive. He doubts describing his sentiments, or knowing of the guilt he feels will mollify his brother. 

“No one could have known King Aerys would kill them or that war would break out. I am only one man and I was not here to stop him.”

His brother frowns. “No, you were not here. You were in the mountains of Dorne where you should not have been.” 

This time he is the one who clenches his fists. “I was in Dorne because I was sworn to go wherever my prince required of me. I did not draw any enjoyment from it. Would you have me go back on my word? No one meant for any of this to happen; especially not me.” He could have done anything instead of helping Rhaegar and the girl get to Dorne in the first place, yet, Rhaegar Targaryen was not a man many said ‘no’ to and it was Arthur’s duty to obey him as a friend and a Kingsguard.

His brother sighs. “I will grant you did not mean any of this to happen and you could not have foreseen the extent of it, but, you learned of the situation did you not? Or did Ser Gerold not tell you of the storm which brewed?” His brother should have spat out the words. Even muted, the disgust was palpable.

“Do not make this about Ser Gerold when it is my actions you find fault with.” 

Alnair tilts his head up, eyes, so like his own, narrowed. “As you wish, but, it does not make my questions any less valid.”

He has to look away. As Kingsguard he could not claim ignorance of very much. He certainly could not claim ignorance of Prince Rhaegar’s actions and he knew what Aerys became. He did nothing and the realm paid the price for it. It is too late to change things, but, not one day goes by when he thinks he should have taken any different course. There were so many choices he could have made and did not. That was the crux of it. His actions or inactions is what Alnair would be concerned about, no one else’s. Now, he was the one paying the price, though one far lesser than others have paid.

Perhaps he should have come back, vows to Rhaegar be damned. He disregarded how King Aerys would have expected him to return once Ser Gerold found them. If he had perhaps Princess Elia would still trust him or Prince Rhaegar’s daughter would look at him like she looks at Jaime Lannister. Even if all he did was come back and fought along-side his people, perhaps they would not look at him as though he betrayed them. Perhaps he would not feel as though he had. He wants his brother and sisters to look at him with pride and love, not what he sees now. 

Still, he argues, “You are not the one who was bound by oaths. You know full well I could not gainsay my prince or my king, no matter what the circumstance.”

His brother frowns at him. “I will not lay Aerys’ actions at your feet. However, the events leading up to that are tied to you. Even if his son did not know what was to happen and I have no reason to think he was so empty-headed, he was the Crown Prince. Both of you should have known nothing good could have come from going anywhere with a girl barely into her first blush of womanhood; that girl, in particular. None of you had any reason to be been in Dorne, let alone in the Prince’s Pass, and every reason not to be. You were the only Dornishman in that party. Your role could not have been small.” 

Alnair could understand fealty, he would not be here otherwise; however, it was his actions with Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna which bothered his brother. Princess Elia was ‘their princess’ and her son was to be the first half-Dornish king of the Seven Kingdoms in years. Lyanna Stark did not want much of what Elia Martell had and while Rhaegar would not think to give it, but, no Dornishman would fail see this in a less than favorable light. Even when his prince returned to fight at the Trident, that the former king held the children of Dorne as hostage did Prince Rhaegar no favors. 

His brother has the luxury of thinking thus, Arthur did not. “You are right to be angry with me.”

Alnair shakes his head. “It is not about anger. I am, make no mistake about it. You went missing. I feared for you. We all did. Can you imagine what it was like to go from fear to disgust? The Sword of the Morning, _my brother_ , was party to an abduction of a girl orchestrated by the Crown Prince? As if that was not enough, you were still missing when Dorne was forced into war. Prince Doran summoned me to Sunspear after the war. Franklyn Fowler had also been summoned. His face haunted me for days. You cannot possibly imagine what it was like to hear about what you had been party to, but, no, the time for anger has long since passed.” His brother ends in a tired whisper. 

It twists something inside, hearing the disappointment and dismay where there never any was before. It was even worse because he knew he put this there. He knew these to be the words of the Lord of Starfall, but, they were more than that. These are the words of his brother, his true brother. 

Though he knows he was not entirely at fault, he is not blameless. He had known better and he should have expected, if not anarchy, that matters would go beyond general discontent. “Am I still your brother or am I to be just a Kingsguard to you from now on?”

Alnair looks startled. “What sort of question is that?” His brother puts arms around his shoulders. He feels like a child for blurting out the words, but, he needed that answer. His brother embraces him and he has never felt so relieved. Alnair whispers, “Of course, you are still my brother.”

“Then why are you treating me as though I was just a stranger?”

“What? How do you mean?” How could Alnair sound so confused?

“Ashara and Allyria!”

Alnair steps back and Arthur misses the closeness, brief as it was, already. “What of them?” 

“I learn one of our sister’s is married while the other’s marriage was arranged only after you do it. Why would you decide such things without my input? Or was this to be some sort of punishment? I cannot think of any other reason for you to keep these things from me.” There are many things are between them, but, for Alnair to do this without even telling him…

“They have to be married one day or another. I have every right to select where they marry and these were appropriate matches. I am their eldest brother and the head of our house. It is only right that I do it and no one else will.” He stamps down on his irritation at Alnair’s insinuations. He nearly snorts, Alnair’s words were not insinuations.

“So that is why when Jon Connington came to your doorstep you simply gave him Ashara’s hand?”

His brother sighs. “Ashara nearly had a child once.”

Incredulous, he grits his teeth. “Do not tell me she would get no Dornish husband because of that?”

His brother sends him a look. “Do you know who the father was?”

Arthur sighs. She never did tell him and he had not been at Starfall to ask her. Does his brother mean to wound him by such a question? “You know I do not.”

“Brandon Stark.” He exhales a breath. Stark. Of course, it would be that Stark of all people.

He shakes himself of the thought. “I see. What does that matter, now?” The child is as dead as the father is.

‘It matters’, the look his brother gives him says. “She knew nothing was to come out of her dalliance, but, she was upset greatly when the both died and not only because of that.” Arthur had to look away. His brother always did know where to cut even if he was not actually trying.

“That does not explain how you decided to have Jon Connington as a good-brother or why she agreed.”

“It is a good match even when Connington is a knightly house. He is the lord of an old and respected house. They became close since he remained in Dorne after his return from Aerys’ exile. He is good to her. Of course, Doran and I are of the opinion that the Stormlands would be a good place for our sister.” He frowned at the ‘Doran and I’ and how easily his brother admits it. 

“You are of one mind with Prince Doran?”

The pointed look tells him Alnair knows what he was hinting at and does not appreciate it. He does not argue. “He is my liege-lord and one of my oldest and closest friends. There is much sense to what he says.” Arthur grimaces, recognizing what his brother does not elaborate on. That there was a match between a staunch Targaryen loyalist and a Dornish lady to serve as a reminder or perhaps a warning to other Stormlords makes it even more worthwhile. 

He supposed no one could find the match illogical. It was probably why the match was made Ashara and Jon knew each other. Marriages were made in worse circumstances. At that thought he nearly flinched. Did Lady Lyanna’s willingness to run away from her own betrothal influence Alnair’s decisions to get this done and quickly, at that? Still, the second match…

“What required Allyria to be betrothed to the Lannister’s imp? Why the urgency? Our sister is a child. So is the boy, for that matter.” Even if Alnair made the choice independently of recent events, this match when both are so young and the boy is a dwarf…

Alnair snorts. “Do you think Tywin Lannister would have looked at our house for a bride to be Lady of Casterly Rock had this son of his took after his brother in stature?”

True enough. A man like Tywin Lannister would have scoffed at the idea of a match between their houses had circumstances been different; but, that is not what causes Arthur to frown. “You have met him?” 

His brother nodded. “Briefly, Ser Jaime introduced us after our arrival here. He seems like a clever enough boy, if somewhat shy.” His brother frowns slightly, before continuing, “Rather understandable, I suppose. Ser Jaime tells me Lord Tyrion does not leave Casterly Rock much.” It was not so much the way his brother tries to sell him on the match which addles him.

“Jaime introduced you?” It was enough to know his brother met the imp but did not have the time or inclination to seek him out. Now he must hear of this only now. Jaime should have told him, if no one else wanted to bother.

Of course, Alnair does not think much about his question because he simply nods. “Aye. They were waiting for Lady Cersei near Prince Oberyn’s rooms.” His brother shakes his head fondly. “It was a good opportunity to meet them, besides. They are to be family after all.”

Here he stood and Alnair thinks nothing of calling them family. His brother adds, “Lord Tyrion, despite his infirmity, seems like a normal boy his age. Whilst here I will learn more, tomorrow will make for a good start, at least.”

Despite his irritation flaring once more, he questions, “What happens tomorrow?” He knew of nothing planned. Then again, why should this be any different?

“Nothing much. Prince Oberyn is to take a round or two in the practice yards with Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion will be there. Cheering on his brother no doubt.” His brother shakes his head again, smiling slightly when he goes on, “Our prince is rather put out that he is not to take part in the tourney or the melee since these festivities held partly in honor so he means to have some fun of his own.” Alnair barks out a laugh.

Arthur refrains from remarking about the stress Alnair put on ‘our’. He sits down once more. To put aside Jaime and Prince Oberyn’s ever developing friendship, he asks, “So our sister’s lives are to be the subject of politics then?” 

His brother joins him on the low couch. “Politics never ends.” Would he ever have Alnair again? Whatever little warmth of moments ago there was seemed to have washed away completely and become trivialities of men at court. He heard Alnair’s words, but, was he to be just a Kingsguard now, even for those who he loved?

“What happens now? What about us? Where do I go from here?”

He fears the answer, but, he needs to hear it one way or another. The seconds tick away while Alnair refuses to say anything. When he does, Alnair does not look at him. “Before I knew what it truly meant, I was proud my brother was serving as Kingsguard. It is a post worthy of the Sword of the Morning. Your choices of late and the consequences of them will not sit well with me, yet, I know you did what your oaths required of you. Though I am angry about the part you played in Rhaegar’s mess, I am still proud of you. We all are.” 

Reassurances aside, the words are less harsh than he expected. They are also not comforting in the least. “Will I ever be welcome at Starfall again?”

Now, Alnair looks at him. “You are never not welcome. Arthur, do not think for one moment I, Ashara, or Allyria, for that matter, love you any less than we always have or think any less of you. You will forever be our brother and a Dayne of Starfall, even with that cloak.”

 _Even with that cloak?_ He does not argue. He supposes, like the cloak he wore, he earned that.

* * *

Arthur was seated when Princess Elia entered the hall with Lord Tywin. While Prince Doran had Lady Genna on his arm, Oberyn entered the hall with his betrothed. While Prince Doran sat with a handful of other Dornish nobles, including Alnair, the betrothed couple came to sit with him. Jaime Lannister stumbled in the hall after and headed in their direction. When he finally reached them, he plopped into the seat on Lady Cersei’s free side and kissed her cheek.

“Sweet sister.”

She puts on a surprised face. “Oh, Jaime, now am I your ‘sweet sister’?

The look of apology is not one Arthur sees frequently on Jaime’s face. For a reason he tries not to name, it fills him with relief that the younger man is capable of contrition at all. She accuses, “You never have time for me anymore.” 

“That’s not true.” 

She pointedly says, “Then why is it that I hardly recognized you without that menagerie that follows you about like a chick would follow its mother?” 

Jaime sends his sister a look even as Oberyn laughs. As he pulls out a chair and plants himself in it he grouses, “I can’t very well ignore them, now can I?” 

Since the cabal began to descend on King’s Landing for this wedding, many vied for his attention along with Princess Rhaenys, Prince Viserys and Tyrion Lannister. Arthur knows all too well even those who were not children were not immune. 

Prince Oberyn laughs again and he presses himself closer to his fair-haired betrothed. “I think I should be offended. Have I not proved to be that much of a distraction, my lady?” 

Given how much time the soon to be wedded pair spend together, Arthur severely doubts that. 

Cersei Lannister smirks and flushes so prettily at her future husband. “You are the best kind, my lord.” 

Jaime frowns at the way his sister leans into her betrothed, but, recovers quickly. “I am sorry, dearest sister, but, as you know, I am here now.”

Seemingly forgiven, she smiles. “Good.”

Once it would have been him and Ashara speaking to each other the way Jaime and Lady Cersei are now. No longer. Now, he feels odd simply speaking to these three. He has little to say to Lady Cersei while Oberyn and Jaime have formed something of a friendship that Arthur has no part of. 

And it is with that thought he feels someone’s eyes upon him. Arthur quickly turns away and takes a sip of wine. It had to be that man of all people who was now speaking to his brother and Prince Doran and Lord Dagos. Lady Cersei, apparently noticing where his gaze had been, questions, “Who is that? The sigil of Skyreach, is it not?”

Prince Oberyn looks up and the man, noticing their scrutiny, smiles and nods politely. “That is Lord Fowler. Of course, he’d stare at the most beautiful woman in the room.” Oberyn flirts with the smiling Lady Cersei, but, the look he sends Arthur tells him he knows that Fowler was not staring at his betrothed. He considered it a small mercy neither Stark was here. He did not want to imagine what Fowler would have done besides stare at him.

Oberyn remarks to his betrothed, “You’ve been studying.”

“Always.” She smirks again. The Lannister twins even smirk the same, though Jaime was not smirking right now. 

Oberyn gets up and extends a hand to her. “Come, I will introduce you.” 

She takes it and Oberyn nods to Jaime, but, gives him a look, if one was ignorant, one might have called sympathy. Jaime looks down to his plate as the pair leaves Arthur takes another sip of wine. 

The silence suits Arthur just fine. In many ways, speaking to Jaime was just as taxing as being near his own people. 

As if summoned by his own thoughts, Princess Rhaenys springs up beside them, looking upset. 

“Ser Jaime?” Before it used to be her father and then perhaps him who she came to first. It was mostly always Jaime now. 

Jaime coos, “Ah, what is it my Princess? Is it not past the time you should be in bed?” How easily the smile is plastered on the younger man’s face, Arthur thinks. 

She insists, “Mama said I could stay.” Arthur turns to see Princess Elia speaking with a laughing Gerion Lannister, in addition to, he was certain were a pair of Tywin Lannister’s good-sisters. The Hand was also nearby. He tries to contain his grimace; there were far too many Lannister’s in King’s Landing. The wedding was still days away and he could not wait for it to finally be done.

He hears just enough skepticism in Jaime’s voice, “Truly?”

She hesitates, before, “If I stay with Uncle, I could.” 

Arthur looks around for the remaining son of his former king. Only knowing Oswell was shadowing the child stops him from going to look for Prince Viserys himself, though he almost did.

Jaime guesses, “And he would not let you?” 

Clearly disgruntled, she exclaims, “They say I am too small!”

With some laughter in his voice, Jaime questions, “Who says, my Princess?”

“Uncle and Lord Willas! Lord Tyrion is smaller. They let him play.” She ends, pouting. Years ago, Ashara had said similar about him and Alnair. 

Jaime explains, “They are of an age”. Arthur remembers his father used to say the same, yet, Jaime is not the girl’s father. 

She crosses her arms and indignant in the way only young children are, she exclaims, “You are my Kingsguard. You side with me!” 

He stiffens when Jaime throws his head back and laughs as though the young girl’s words were the most pleasant thing he ever heard. “Is that right?” 

When he catches Jaime’s eyes Arthur feels himself trying to prevent a scowl when the girl nods eagerly. 

“My Princess, where is your Septa?” 

“I am hiding. She will take me away.” Jaime’s eyes are filled with mirth while her eyes widen comically while she looks about as if to ensure neither Septa nor her mother was not coming to send her to bed. It does not become him, but, Arthur finds himself hoping for it when he turns to look where the Septa is, in fact, heading towards Princess Elia. 

“We ought not to make things harder on the poor woman.” Suitable words, but, the way Jaime’s lips twitch as Princess Elia turns almost immediately to look towards their table, Arthur is peeved by. The feeling increases when Jaime tilts his head in the direction of the little princess who slipped behind his chair, now ‘hiding’ in earnest. Arthur tries not to feel dismay when the mother and knight exchange smiles before Princess Elia’s nods and goes back to speaking with Leyton Hightower’s heir. Even the Septa shakes her head fondly, thinking nothing of this.

It is difficult to not be annoyed at Jaime’s beatific expression. “Stay with me, my Princess, and your lady-mother will not send you to bed, just yet.” 

“Truly?” He sees such hope on the child’s face. Arthur can barely get half of that reaction from the girl most times even if she was as deferential to each of the men of the Kingsguard as any child her age would be. 

The murmured reply Jaime gives of “a few minutes only” does little to set him at ease. 

He watches grimly as Jaime pulls out the chair next to him only to watch as Princess Rhaenys bounces into it, previous consternation thoroughly gone. Jaime takes a lemon cake from the pile in front of him, putting it in a plate and pushing towards the girl. 

“This is not so bad is it?” The little girl shakes her head at Jaime, even as she takes a bite, clearly enjoying herself now. 

He waits for a few minutes, listening as the girl chatters away to Jaime, to broach the subject. “Perhaps the princess should go to bed soon.”

“The Septa should be here soon enough, I think.” Since when did it fall to Jaime to reassure anyone about Prince Rhaegar’s children? Arthur tries not to wince when the girl smothers her own protest when Jaime quirks an eyebrow and gives her half a smile indicating that she should not argue. 

Perhaps it is the wine that when Princess Elia finally kiss her daughter good night and the girl leaves with a slight bow Arthur does not stop himself. “You indulge her.”

Jaime smiles at him blandly. “It was a small thing when she is usually well-behaved.” _For me_ , Jaime’s eyes seem to say, even when he shrugs nonchalantly.

“You are Kingsguard. You do not have to be a child minder.” Jaime had always been eager to prove himself. Arthur had long since wished that not to be so, even if it was doing something like this.

Jaime smiled, “I was appointed to the Kingsguard, yes.” Even if it was mildly said, there will always be a difference between appointed and volunteered. Just as mildly, Jaime goes on to ask, “Do you remember that day?”

Gods forgive him, the memories of Harrenhall come far too easily no matter how many times he wishes he could forget where this mess started and how little the subject is deliberately broached. He only offers, “We were shocked.”

Jaime nods. “I imagine so. However, I was proud. I wanted to be a knight and the Kingsguard are the best of knights.” Such pretty words for all they sound so ugly. He even smiles at Arthur before taking a drink of his own. “I was such a child, then. It was not long after I learned what it truly meant.” 

“What was that?” He does not need to ask, but, he does, anyway. 

“The cloak we wear comes at a cost. You taught me that. You all taught me that.” 

Arthur looks into those green eyes that used to belong to the eager, righteous boy who became so angry that he could do nothing because meant disobeying the king. He did teach the boy. The man sitting with him has the same eyes and, yet, it is not the same boy. Arthur wishes he had the boy back and it was not just the awe Jaime no longer had of him Arthur missed. Jaime goes on, “It was a painful lesson, if a valuable one. I did not think I would be, but, I am grateful.”

What is there to be grateful for now that he feels like Jaime had looked so many years ago? Was it Jaime who changed or was it him? More and more Jaime’s words frustrate him. Every time they talk of one thing it always seems like Jaime was talking of something else. This was no different. “How so? What does this have to do with Prince Rhaegar’s children now?” 

Jaime smiles. He does it too much. “To serve as Kingsguard requires certain sacrifices. If I am expected certain things then I should serve as best needed otherwise those sacrifices I make are for naught.” 

The words are sensible and as calmly as they were spoken, he shivers. Once he would have yearned to hear those words. No longer. “Your duties do not require that you act as a nursemaid.” He does not care if he sounds irritable. 

Rather than be offended, Jaime laughs. “It is an important task since most of the family we serve are children of ages to need one.” Arthur flinches. More than once, Jaime has been congratulated for this task. In a way, he had done no differently and spent much of the last year as a nursemaid, even if his charge had been the one to have a child herself. Arthur bitterly thinks of how Jaime’s charges, at least, at the time, were those they both should be attending to. 

“In a time of peace, the royal family is more than adequately guarded and do not need so many swordsmen all the time. Even if they did, you are better at such things than I.” A compliment which feels nothing like one as Jaime simply turns away from him to look at the revelers before them. Rather than think why he feels thus, he chances a look at Ashara who was busy speaking to Connington and to Alnair was speaking to a Redwyne. 

Moments later, Jaime whispers, “When those lords m- _died_ …” 

Though he was the one to break the silence between them, Arthur thinks Jaime curbed what he wanted to say possibly out of deference for him. He should not have bothered. No words anyone could say can make the past less ugly. “You could not do anything. You had vows and you had orders.”

He gets a broken smile for his effort before Jaime goes back to looking at his sister. “Precisely. I was a knight, I should have protected the innocent or fought, but, I stood and watched men burn and then I stayed behind these walls because I have vows. I still failed my King in the end.” 

Arthur clenches his hand more tightly against the goblet he holds. Jaime experienced what he did after Arthur left his post. He knew he was leaving his brothers to do their part and his and two of his brothers, their prince, and countless others, are dead because of it. Even if Jaime failed King Aerys he protected some of the family he was sworn to. Jaime should not be so mournful when he could at least make the claim he tried. Even when Jaime did not fight for his king, Barristan, who was on duty in the nursery, did. What can he claim? 

“I know.” Gods, he knows what it was like to keep to his vows and still fail. 

“Yes, you know.” Jaime’s lips curl upwards and the tone was not quite mocking, but, then, Lannister’s always seemed to mock. “The King trusted no one; not even me though he wanted me here while the others went to war. I protected his good-daughter and grandchildren and for a time there was also Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys. Had I been closer to my king I might have done the same for him that night. It is too late for that and, yet, I am still bound by my vows.”

He wishes Jaime would stop speaking or just go away, but, Jaime will be here until he breathes his last. Just like he will. So he sits and listens.

“My failure aside I might have the makings of a good Kingsguard, or so most tell me. I can try and take enjoyment in such things, however, in times of peace there is little for me to do and so I must earn my keep. Often I find myself wondering what that means. My father is here and so the Princess Regent has no need for my understanding of politics. Though I would assist in any capacity I could, Prince Viserys is to be Lord Arryn’s charge, not mine. As for the King, Princess Rhaenys, and their brother, they are only babes. Mayhap it is a good thing I was here when Princess Rhaenys learned to smile again. Later, I might be required to do more and I will as my vows require, but, for now they require amusement. I seem to be good at it.” 

When Jaime smiles again Arthur barely resists the urge to strike him. He was the one safe in a tower far away from war while everyone he knew was in danger one way or another. He was of no use then. Once again he glances at his family some distance away. He sees Princess Elia was deep in conversation with her brother. Her son was safely tucked into bed with her daughter. Prince Rhaegar’s son joined them. He is with none of them. The family he is sworn to seems to have as little use of him as his own does. 

From somewhere besides him Lady Cersei returns, “Jaime, my love, come dance with me.”

Without so much as a glance towards him, Jaime rises from his seat. “Now, sweet sister, it is you who remember me! Where is your betrothed?” 

She grumbles, “Can a lady not dance with her brother without her motives being questioned?” 

Jaime laughs as he grabs her extended hand. “I would never question you, my dear sister.” 

Arthur looks in the direction she drags Jaime off to. Lady Cersei’s betrothed was dancing with his sister now. Ashara and Alnair were now doing the same. While he sits alone he tries not to think of the way the white he wears does not seem as bright as it once used to. 

* * *


	11. Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's some slight incest in this chapter but nothing graphic.

Jaime throws his hand over Cersei’s waist to pull her closer. She is so beautiful. She grows more when she is smiles at him. Gods, what he would do to stay like this with her forever; but, he cannot.

Cersei’s voice breaks his reverie, “I do not know this one.”

He blinks, confused, “What?”

He feels her presses her finger into his skin. “This scar. Where did it come from?”

He looks down and the he memories of that morning flood to him as Cersei began to trace the still fresh scar on his torso. 

He grabs her hand and smiles. He pulls her closer and kisses the frown on her face away. “From the tourney. It is nothing. It is far being the first.” He does not say it is likely not going to his last, but, the way she looks at him she knows. 

She grumbles, “I know I just do not like the idea of you getting injured for a stupid things like tourneys.” 

He smiles. Cersei loved tourneys since the one held in Lannisport many years ago. His smile slips slightly wondering if he had won and been able to award her the label of Queen of Love and Beauty she would not have called tourneys stupid. 

He shakes his head. His Cersei is considerate to think of him, but, he spoke the truth. He was not without scars from before and he doubts this will be the last one he ever gets. It was not as though he had not given one to Arthur in return. Arthur may have bested him and gave the laurel to the Princess Regent, but, gods, he could still taste the thrill of going against Arthur. 

He had not lied to Stark; guarding children was his duty and he did not mind it much, but, to do it was tedious. Young children were not particularly interesting and the royal children were no different though, much like Tyrion had been at that age, the little princess trailed after him. He enjoyed the attention because gave him something to do. 

Without a word he pulls Cersei closer to him. She feels so good, curled into him as she was now. He should be a better man and a proper knight; he knows he is not. He wanted to be one once. That dream ended a long time ago. No, instead he breaks his vows with his sister and part of him enjoys goading Arthur, Gerold and Oswell like he does. Arthur…He had not lied to Arthur about the press of vows and, in part, that is why he enjoys watching Arthur’s simmering rage build. Arthur disliked his familiarity with the Regent and her children, but, he never says one word. He saw the looks of disapproval, but, the Arthur he knew, the one who knighted him and who he once revered, would have done something about it.

Riding against Arthur, though, it felt as though he was seeing the Arthur of old again. The Arthur who returned to King’s Landing was so different from the one who left it. Morose. Rudderless. The Sword of the Morning was supposed to be none of those things. He understood why, but, he could never bring himself to accept the new version man who once again lived in the sleeping cells a few doors from his. 

He blinks when Cersei abruptly moves to get up. Confusedly, he asks, “Where are you going?”

Pulling on her dress, Cersei is frowning. “Nowhere. Aunt Genna will be here soon. She wants to speak to me.” 

As dismissive as her tone is, he flinches at what Cersei is implying. He knows what she does not say. Damn it all. He tried to push it out of his mind and now he cannot. From the corner of his eyes he sees that ugly cloak. Even lying there limply, the white of it was so bright it burns. It was mocking him. That scrap of cloth was supposed be the way they were going to be together. He had been such a fool to be believe it. He knew Cersei liked the idea of being wed to Rhaegar Targaryen. He had not minded, after all, the man had been just an idea and became less than one when he married someone else. Tomorrow morning Cersei was going to marry an entirely different man. Oberyn Martell made of flesh and bone, equally full of virtues as he was of faults, but, the greatest one was that he lived where Jaime could not follow.

* * *

Once Cersei is all but rushed out of the hall Jaime is at a loss. It will not be long now before Cersei belongs to Oberyn in a way Jaime is denied. He denies the Dornishman Cersei’s maidenhead and her love, but, Jaime clenches his jaw thinking of how Cersei will bear the name of another man, his touch, and even his children. 

The cheers, the laughter, the music; it sickens him when all wants is to chase after Cersei yelling to anyone who would listen that he loves her and she him. 

Instead, he is at this table laden with the finest fare Dorne and the Westerlands could offer before him drowning amidst everyone’s good cheer. Earlier he ate and drank as much as he could though each bite and each sip tasted like ash. He looks at his father again returns his gaze to his plate while keeps his tries to keep a fake smile pasted on. He even stopped trying to speak to anyone because the words come uncharacteristically halting on his tongue. 

He pulled his eyes up to look at the path Cersei took only to see Elia Martell shifting in her chair. By the time he could make out the weariness hiding behind the smile on her face she catches him staring. “Ser Jaime.”

Glad to have something, anything, else to think of except his Cersei being with Oberyn Martell, he tries to smile at her, “Princess.”

She frowns slightly as if regretting acknowledging him. He almost wishes he could tell her he was relieved that she provided any sort of distraction. 

She starts again, “You are not eating? Is the food not to your liking? Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

No he was not, though he would never admit it. Belatedly he remembers she had been responsible for enough of the arrangements. The event was grand, befitting a Lannister, even Cersei had remarked. “Yes.” He adds, “Everything has been splendid, but, I have had my fill. While I might be the brother of the bride-” 

He only just stops himself from choking on the words. He goes on to say, “I think I might be rather fatigued with all of the festivities. It has been a long while since we have had any on this scale.” He doubts the words came out convincing though cannot find it in himself to care if they had not been.

“Ah I see.” She pauses. “Well, I would not wish to impose…” She trails off nervously looking at the hall.

When she says nothing more, he remarks, “Princess, perhaps you should tell me so that I can decide if you are being imposing.” Anything was better than being here doing nothing. 

She takes a breath and her laughter is forced. “I wish to see the children before I retire for the evening, but, I fear it might be too late before soon and I think I have become overtired, myself.”

He blinks at her. So he is not the only one who wishes to leave. Curious.

He waits for her to say something more. When she opens her mouth she leans closer to him. “I was wondering if you would escort me, but, I would not want to disturb you if you would stay and enjoy the rest of the festivities.” 

He almost laughed; not only because she was lying. Perhaps this sudden urge to see the children was real, but, the rest of it was a lie. He had seen her at her most tired and she would never admit to weakness. Still, he would say nothing about it when she had the right idea. What could he enjoy now that his Cersei was no longer his alone? How could he enjoy the festivities when the only thing he could think of was Cersei when he hated being here already? Why would he toss away this chance to be away from those celebrating this farce?

From her other side, Doran Martell speaks up, “Ser Jaime, I can accompany my sister. You should stay. ”

He looked at the scene in front of him. The celebrations were still on going, but, he could see some begin to filter out of the hall. Of those still in his sight most were drunk, if not on wine and food, on merriment. Cersei had been his reason for being here and she was gone. He had done his duty and played the part of the happy brother. His father was still here. His father showed no happiness, but, Jaime knew he was not unhappy. No one would miss him when not even Cersei looked back. He does not want to stay and now he has a good enough reason for not doing so. “Nonsense my prince, you should stay. My father is still in the hall and someone of the groom’s family should remain. I will accompany the princess. I was also thinking of retiring myself now that bedding....” He only just managed to not spit out the words in disgust.

To forestall any other objection, he rises. “Let us go, Princess.” He does not want to think of how he knows she looks just as relieved as he does. 

Prince Doran finally nods to him and kisses his sister on the cheek and speaks to them both. “Very well. If you are sure, I will make your excuses though I doubt anyone will think to ask. I will see you both on the morrow.” 

As she wraps her arm around his he cannot decide between them who was dragging the other out of the hall. He cannot find it in himself to care so long as he is far away from the sounds of joy.

He waits outside the nursery. She had not intended to stay for long or so she said and if it means he gets to be by himself quicker, all the better for it. Even then, he had been shocked when came to stand in front of him not a minute later. Without a word starts she walking in the direction of her chambers. 

The only time either spoke a word was to the guards posted at the entrance of the wing housing the royal family’s apartments though when they get to her door she thanks him politely before slipping inside. 

When he turns away he is at something of a loss. Now that he does not have the Princess to occupy his time Cersei once more floods his mind; Cersei and her new husband. 

Once more he damns his father for agreeing to the match. Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair. What does he do now?

* * *

He cannot bring himself to sleep and time passes slowly. He’d tossed and turned in his dark sleeping cell. In his mind all he could picture was Cersei, but, where before those images would serve to please him now all he could think of was how she looked in the throes of passion. Now where he would imagine himself all he could imagine was her new husband. 

Her heart is his, but, for tonight Cersei’s body is not. It should be no one else’s save for his. He bites his lip trying not to think of them together, but, the images will not be held at bay. He clenches his fists, wondering if Cersei was thinking of him or were her thoughts centered on Oberyn Martell. No! His mind screams. She loves him. He repeats the words, but, he remembers how she laughed along with those who dragged her out of the hall. 

He lets out a growl of frustration and rises. There is a single candle burning, though it had only just started to melt. He splashes his face with the water kept in a basin on top of a small table he kept in the corner of his sleeping cell. After a few moments he dresses himself once more and leaves the room thinking it does not matter where he goes because Cersei will not leave his mind.

* * *

Before too long he comes across a closed door, the Princess' Solar. He can see light from under it. Who has the audacity to be there and at this time of night? Without thinking of it, he barges in to see the startled Princess Regent standing behind her desk brandishing a blade. 

He fumbles for words and steps back, meeting her equally shocked eyes. “Princess. What are you doing here?” 

Her grip on the blade he had never seen before loosens. Where did she even get it? When she sits down though she looks at him with exasperation, he can see how heavy the breaths she takes are. “I could not sleep.” As if that explains anything. 

“You should not be here alone and without a guard. Where is Ser Oswell?” He bites back a grimace. That was not the question he wanted to ask. Why was she here at this hour? He left her in her rooms. She should not be here, let alone brandishing weapons at him. 

She glances with him a raised eyebrow. For reasons he cannot explain his breath hitches when she lifts the blade slightly. He had not known she had training of any sort. He certainly never saw her with a weapon. Aerys certainly would not have allowed it. He knew his father never allowed Cersei weapons. He bites his lip. Not now. He cannot have those thoughts now. Instead, he tries to focuses on the words the woman in front of him was saying. 

“I did not wish to bother him since I dismissed him earlier today. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Rarely does one come here at this time of night, besides.” 

All of that could be true and as far as he knew it was. She goes on, “The guards come by regularly and no one expects that I would have a weapon.” His lips twitch. He had to admit it was a well-made dagger, though it would not do much against too much a trained fighter. But, then, surprise would count for something 

She puts the blade into the sheath he sees perched on her desk. At his derisive look she continues, “The tip is laced with poison.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it with a snap. Her damned brother. Could he go nowhere without being reminded of the grandness of Oberyn Martell? ‘No’ his traitorous mind supplied.

“Well, then perhaps you would tell me what you are doing here at this hour.”

Vexation bleeds into her voice. “As I said, I was unable to sleep.”

“You chose to be here instead of your rooms.”

“As a point of fact, they are not my rooms.” 

He frowns, annoyed. What does it matter if they had once belonged to her husband? She has slept in those rooms for weeks. Why the distinction now? “As you say, however, why be here when earlier you claimed you were tired.”

“I said that to get out of the hall.” 

Perplexed as he is about her, he fights to keep the smile off of his face. “You lied.” 

She argues, “Not entirely.” She looks at him anxiously. “Does it matter?”

He scowls, why does it matter to him? “Not particularly.”

She sighs. “Now that you are here, would you mind seeing me to my chambers once more?”

The shock must have shown on his face. “I promise I will not leave them again, if that is your concern.” 

He could not tell if he was being mocked, and because of it, he snorts. He does not care, should not care, if she goes anywhere or where she chooses to go except that it is late and if it is found out that he left her here alone when he had been wandering…He decides to give up thinking about it. He thinks too much tonight. “Then, let us go.”

Unlike earlier in the evening, she invites him into the apartments’ sitting room. During Prince Rhaegar’s occupancy he rarely entered the rooms. The one exception since she took the rooms over was when he looked for her after learning of Cersei’s marriage and now he was here the night of it. 

To ignore the churning of his stomach coming from realization of that coincidence he looks about the room. He still sees marks of the Prince about though the bulk of the prince’s remaining belongings are relegated to one corner. If her previous statements are any indication, he doubts the Regent will keep to these chambers even when Lady Stark vacates hers, but, one never knows. At any rate the rooms were well kept, including the orderly desk in a corner, except for one bundle of very familiar flowers though they had not been in that condition the last time he saw them.

“What happened to…”

She stops in the middle of pouring wine into a pair of goblets. He had not thought she would offer any given the abundance of it earlier. He does not remember if she partook in any at the time, but, he was not going to refuse it now. After her eyes follow to where he was pointing a flush begins coloring her tan cheeks. It must be quite a tale, he muses. She looks deeply uncomfortable and mutters, “Balerion thought it would make a fitting snack.”

Hoping he heard wrong, but, recognizing he did not, his eyes go impossibly wide. “You let the Princess’ cat eat the laurel Arthur gifted you?” He had seen her smile when Arthur gave her the “crown” of roses and heard her thank him. He certainly did not think she’d be that vicious even when among Arthur’s newer quirks was his increased formality with her. But, remembering the blade in her hands and the way she spoke of her good-father he mentally amends that she could be that. However, Arthur was no threat to her. He finds no shortage of amusement in how Arthur wants to be the exact opposite of a threat.

“No!” She coughed and tried again, less sharply, “I had been planning to take it apart.” At his look, she elaborates, “Rhaenys wanted to weave the petals through her hair.” 

He nodded absently. Though he did not recall if Cersei did the same in their childhood, and he aches at the thought of his sister again, he had seen others girls of their ilk do such things before. Then the Princess went on, “The cat caught sight of it…” He tried not to smile as she trailed off; the rest of the story unnecessary. 

Her flush deepened, “Poor Arthur.”

He blinks. “He was there?” 

She huffed and shook her head. “One moment he was answering her about questions about tourneys and the next that cat lunged at it.”

He could not help himself, he laughs. 

“There was nothing humorous about it, Ser Jaime. It was a complete disaster”, the gentle reprimand came.

For a moment he thinks he went too far, but, her lips twitch, “I suppose a Lannister would appreciate an impertinent cat.”

Thinking of Arthur, he decides to ask, “Can you salvage any of them?”

“I thought I would sew the salvageable petals into a gown or dry them out to make a book markers. I have not decided, yet.”

He nods and takes glass proffered and takes a seat in the chair she gestured to. Now that he was here he might as well engage in conversation though he does not want to speak of flowers or the tourney which prevented him from giving the same bundle to his sister. “So how is it I found you in your Solar tonight?”

“I thought I would be more productive than trying to force myself to sleep when it was going to remain elusive.”

He remembered, “That is why you went to the nursery.”

Her eyebrows draw together. Eventually, she admits, “Yes.”

“You did not spend too much time there.”

Her expression stiffens and for a moment his mind scrambles trying to find the reason for it before it returns to her polite mask. “The children were asleep and Lady Stark was there. Usually she does not venture this late and I did not wish to disturb her.” He nearly scoffs at how civil it sounded. It is almost as though they had an agreement that neither lady is there in the nursery at the same time. He left it alone. He knew the Stark girl preferred to take her time in the mornings when this one was in audiences or involved in council business, but, decided to take the risk while the Princess was supposed to be off celebrating her brother’s wedding. 

He could imagine the sight. The Princess’ face would not be marred by a disgusted expression or a happy one. With anyone else, he would have thought it a laudable thing that there is no sadness or anger from her; but, he remembered how she looked at Tyrion so many years ago. Jaime dearly loved his brother, but, he knew Tyrion was far from a pretty child. Elia Martell had been a “lady” then, too, but, Tyrion was not Elia Martell’s dead husband’s child by another woman. 

At this time of night and in this circumstance the Princess would not take the child in her arms, but, she would not take her own children into her arms either. The night nurse would have probably wept in relief, if she had thought she would not be reprimanded for such sentimentality and the two Kingsguard on duty would stand about looking between the two women awkwardly. 

He knew she did not trust the Stark girl, but, if the younger woman could venture into the nursery then she would be healthy enough to leave King’s Landing soon. His father’s lesson about giving mercy to vanquished enemies comes to mind. He sobers; not entirely because he feels uncomfortable about the situation, but, because any thought of his father forces him to remember Cersei even when he was grasping at anything else to think of.

He straightens and determinedly keeps his gaze on the Princess though the way she looks now he cannot help but wonder what his reaction will be if and when he sees Cersei’s children by her husband. With the Regent’s looking away momentarily he does not bother concealing his scowl. Though any child would be Cersei’s, he doubts he would want to be kind to the child. He would have to try, but, to put forth the effort…

He erases the sentiment from his face when she turns back to look at him, “You chose to spend your time walking, Ser?” 

He knocks back the contents of his cup. Then, he smiles, “True.”

She huffs a laugh, even as she moves to fill his glass again, “But, here you are now.”

“So I am.” 

“I was not aware you were fond of walking the halls of this place at night and you also claimed tiredness earlier.” He finds himself smiling at the way she asks the question without asking it. 

“The festivities were more or less done.” He goes on to say, “But, I was pleased enough you voiced an interest in leaving.”

He could see the eager curiosity under her seemingly blank expression, “Oh?”

“It would not seem right to leave my sister’s wedding without a good reason but, the bride and groom” he pauses, “were gone.” Even with the morning they spent together Cersei kissed another man in the Sept wearing another man’s cloak. He was forced to watch silently as his beloved smiled at and danced with Oberyn Martell before both her lead away with happy expressions on their faces. He sat through all he could. 

“And so you jumped at the chance?” 

He gave a sharp nod. He certainly had no plans to celebrate Cersei’s wedding more than he had to. “That I did.”

She looks at him. “Why, what made you want to leave?”

“You first, Princess. You never answered.” He is too far gone to care he is being audacious and tells himself if he lied, she lied first.

“I was remembering my own wedding.” He supposes even the most indifferent of women would remember their own time in the position of bride at other’s weddings, even though he thinks he detects a lack of enthusiasm in her tone.

He recalls, “It was a grand affair.” The wedding of the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros had been an event with all the due pomp and pageantry befitting royalty. Much to his chagrin, this wedding had been no different. 

She agreed, “It was.” She takes a sip form her cup.

“But, that the memories alone would not be enough for you to claim tiredness.” Even when she was exhausted or slightly ill she rarely claimed anything of the sort. He knew her pride would not allow it.

She sighs. For a moment he thinks she might give him some evasion, but, he can practically see the moment she decides not to bother. “When I imagined my brother’s wedding, I never imagined I would be attending it as a widow.” 

_There was that._ She finishes her glass quickly and fills it once more. He knew what else ailed her even if no one would speak of it. “Fair enough reason.” He drains his cup again trying not to think of grateful she looked at his avoiding the subject of Lyanna Stark and the girl’s own much delayed wedding. 

“Now, I believe it is your turn. Why would you want to leave the hall? I know how close you are to your sister.” She gestures to the carafe and he nods indicating his interest though he tells himself to drink this one slowly. 

He knew the question was coming though could hardly admit to loving his sister in a way most would not understand or hating the fact that his sister married anyone else, especially to this woman’s brother. “I care for her most of all, but, I think I rather dislike being reminded that I will never have any wedding to speak of.” 

She nodded, solemn. He is thankful there is no pity there, but, then she looks at him, curious. “Did you go where you wanted after we parted ways?”

‘Where he wanted?’ Where could he go that he could ignore or forget his Cersei was with someone else? Though the woman before him is dark where Cersei was fair, that Elia Martell shares some features with her brother is enough for him to remember where he was not. 

“I went to my room, but, like you, could not sleep and I decided to take a walk instead.”

“Not to your lady, then?”

He looks up startled and confused, but, then he remembers they had spoken about this very subject once. 

He settles for the barest of truths. “She is now a woman wedded and bedded.” He tries to avoid revealing his disgust, but, the pain of it…

There is silence for a few moments. “I see. Your engagement with her is over then?” 

Gods, it seemed like so long ago when he burned the letter to Cersei he never sent. He is oddly impressed she remembers enough to ask to the point where he lets her slight shift in tone go unacknowledged. “Yes. It was not as though I could offer her my suit and I would not want another woman.”

The Dornish did not ignore every breach in propriety when it came to bedding others. Even if he could never reveal his feelings for Cersei, and he damns how he cannot, he doubts this one would accept anything less than a complete disavowal. Predictably, when she smiles at him, amidst the sympathy, there is approval. “That is very admirable of you.” 

He wishes he could take pride in this. He only ever wanted Cersei, but, his sister’s hand in marriage would always be denied him because they were not Targaryen. He wants to laugh at that but is not that far gone into his cups. There is none in the current generation of Targaryens who will marry amongst themselves. 

None of that matters. The one wedding he did not want to see already happened. Perhaps it was the wine, but, to change the subject he questions, “Speaking of suits, I take it you are still not considering entertaining any.”

She almost looks startled for a moment and her face hardens. “I thought my thoughts on the subject were quite clear.”

Well, then. It most definitely must be the wine he drinks because his reply is, “That was some time ago and, well, I just mentioned how my own circumstances changed.” 

Obviously looking to delay a response, this time she takes a sip of wine. “That I left my own brother’s wedding should tell anyone that it is much too soon for enacting a change of circumstances such as that.” He hesitates, she had not cried before him except that once, but, this was as close as she would get to telling him she would be ‘mourning’ for the foreseeable future. 

“And if it was not too soon?”

For all her countenance does not change, he thinks he offended her. “Why does it matter to you?”

He thinks, ‘Because thinking of your marriage is one way I stop thinking of my sister’s’. It is times like these he was grateful for being his father’s son. “Because it would affect my own duties.”

Thankfully, she only looked curious. “In what way?”

“Whether or not the council can keep any particular candidate at bay, anyone you would call husband would be father to the king. That is not something to be allowed without careful consideration.”

Now she looks amused. “I see. Just so you are informed, there is no one who comes to mind as a possibility.” She says it as though this was not the first time she has had this discussion. 

He was not surprised to hear that, but, her next words do surprise him. “Who would you think would be a worthy father to my children?” Father to her children rather than husband to her. How interesting. 

“Ser Baelor Hightower seems to enjoy his visit to King’s Landing.”

One of her eyebrows quirk upward. “Taking aside the fact that his niece is already set to marry my son, one walk in the gardens or a dance does not mean a suit was ever in the offering.”

“Oh?” He had thought they got on well. From what he saw the heir to Oldtown was quite chivalrous and turned enough ladies’ heads.

She smiled, “Even if he would have been receptive, the last thing I need to do is offend the houses of Reach by proposing something like this.”

How prettily she lies. Young widows of a certain stature were often sought after. Regardless, he plays her game, “Who would you possibly offend? Certainly not Lord Garth.” 

“Lady Rhonda of House Rowan.” His confusion must have shown because she adds, “His betrothed.”

He had not known that, not that he would have been bothered even if he had. “I can see why that would be a problem.” 

She looks at him blandly. “Not problematic in the least. Lady Rowan is very fortunate. Ser Baelor will make her very happy, I think. But, as I said many weeks ago, I doubt a match between an heir to any noble house and I would have worked.” She smiles a smile that was one of a person that may as well have been speaking of the weather not something as important as marriage or the refusal to wed.

His lips twitch. “My uncle speaks very highly of you.”

His only unmarried uncle left liked pretty things and was eager enough to give the Princess his arm so much so that Uncle Gerion danced with her at each event since he arrived. Now that he thought about it, the same held true tonight. If not men of the Council or visiting Reachlords, Uncle Gerion took the time to be near her when the occasion called for it. 

“He’s quite gallant.” She smiles. So she does appreciate certain charms. But, then her smiles has something almost wicked about it. “I, find, however, and he admits to be slightly more taken with my comparatively greater knowledge of Valyria than the prospect of marriage.” He laughs. Though it seems his father proved not being above trying to change him, his uncle with an adventurer’s heart was ill-suited to marriage. It was oddly reassuring she saw it, too.

They fall silent and for some reason his eyes settle on her hair. His jaw twitches. He tries not to imagine Cersei running her fingers through similar though shorter hair. Because he does, he blurts, “Well, there is always Stannis Baratheon.”

Her laughter bubbles as much as his does. “If you recall, the first time we met, he yelled at me.”

“I also recall you were just as angry as he was.”

She shakes her head at him, “He has hardly warmed to me.”

Though extremely adept at the role of Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon has not warmed to anyone in King’s Landing or apparently sought the need. He pointed out, “He has not warmed to me either.”

_“Stannis Baratheon came to see me.”_

_He curses himself, knowing exactly what she intends to speak to him about._

_She steps closer to him. Even though they are alone she whispers, “He asked me to tell him about the night Aerys died.”_

_He tries to not give in to the fear he begins to feel. “What did he say?”_

_He thinks the words did not come out with the nonchalance he was aiming for when she quirks a brow. “He asked if you were safeguarding my person and that of my children the night Aerys died.” Even though his nervousness builds he took in the way she said Aerys. When they were alone when they mentioned the dead it was only ever ‘Aerys’, never ‘her good-father’ or ‘the King’._

_He wanted to beat Stannis Baratheon bloody. “What did you say?”_

_She stared at him, if he did not know any better he would say she was shocked. “The truth. I told him you were.”_

_He is surprised and relieved, “You said that.”_

_She frowned at him. “Of course, I did. You were with us when he died. I saw no reason to lie.”_

_He looks at her, his expression saying all the words he cannot bring himself to say._

_She gives him a considering look before, “That is not all I told him.”_

_That receding fear he felt crept back up his spine. “What else did he question?”_

_“He said it was strange that you were with us.”_

_“What else did you say?”_

_“I said it was not so strange when you were the only Kingsguard in all of the city and he trusted only a few and not me when my presence did not afford him the help he required of the Dornish he expected during the war. Anyone here can tell him Aerys grew angrier and angrier at every defeat real or imagined he suffered.”_

_“I know.” Still, he continues, “What did you tell him, then?”_

_“That Aerys trusted no one, not even you.” When Elia quiets Jaime remembers the look on Aerys’s face when Jaime killed him. The king might have been mad, but, he had been right after all. As if to soften the blow she says, “Not many would question the mad actions of a madman much, especially when no one would go near him for fear of his anger turning towards them.”_

_He frowns at her, “You mean not many who were not Stannis Baratheon would question the actions of a madman who demanded the head of one’s brother, but, he did, did he not?”_

_Her eyes flash. “It was no secret Aerys spent much of his time alone. I had to tell him about what he asked you to do that night.”_

_They share a look and he sighs. “You mean how Aerys demanded I seek out my father and kill if he proved to be of no help to him.”_

_“Tell a Baratheon with a Targaryen grandmother about a paranoid man with wildfire and they come to their own terrifying conclusions.”_

_How easily he finds himself nodding in agreement disturbs him. “Then why tell me this now?”_

_“Because you should know.” Even standing next to her he barely heard her words._

_“Because if he makes further inquiry I would be in the Black Cells before I could raise my sword arm.”_

_Her voice is flat. “Not just you.”_

_He is bewildered. “How do you mean?”_

_The naked fear in her was unmistakable. Even as she shrugs her shoulders, she glances towards the closed door and speaks even more softly, “We would both be in the Black Cells waiting to die. Perhaps my children would follow after.”_

_His eyes widen in alarm. He hisses, “I know I would be, but, you? And certainly you do not think anyone would harm the children.”_

_She whispers, “Tell that to Reynes and Ellyn Tarbeck.”_

_He laughs at the words he finds less than humorous. “You spend far too much time with my father.”_

_She looks even more grim, “Perhaps so, but, his example does make one think.”_

_If they had been discussing any other subject Jaime does not know if he could be amused or annoyed at yet another person in awe of Tywin Lannister. He reminded her, “You have not rebelled.”_

_“I stood by while you did what no one ever dared. My children are innocent, but, I cannot take a chance if it means they would suffer for what I did or did not.”_

_He knew her fears are real; he shared them even though not in the same way. He had not known what to do when faced with the idea that she feared for him, though he knew her reasons. He offers, “If it comes to that, you could say you went along because I threatened you.”_

_Gratitude filled her eyes, but, she still shakes her head, “No one is that dim to believe I went along with some plot you concocted after so long. I cannot ask more of you, but, if not for me or my children, then for yourself and your family, please, do not goad him or anyone else, certainly not for Aerys.”_

He takes a breath, trying to dispel the memories of that exchange, but, he cannot, “Has he been curious recently?” If Lord Stannis had, then, they would have to think of something. 

He exhales a relieved breath when she shakes her head. “Thankfully, he has not. That was rather dangerous.”

“He was looking down at me for failing in my duty. I was merely reminding him that he was in no position to judge.” 

“I am the last person to judge you where that night is concerned.” He tries not to smile at all at the look she sends him. She was not one to meddle or go out of her way to voice a reprimand, but, with him, this was one of the few exceptions. It almost amuses him at the way he is not bothered by it in the least. 

He quickly sobers. “But, he asks nothing now?” He wants to be sure. He should be sure. 

She shakes her head again. “No. Others saw Aerys dead and he is a man whose brother was threatened. There are certain allowances one makes especially when one’s own brother choses to forget things.”

He nods, vowing to be careful with the Master of Ships. He still has to ask, “Does he still complain about my impertinence?”

She snorts, the weight of their previous discussion seemingly fading from her shoulders though there is a suspicious glint in her eyes, “That it is to be expected when you are the son of Tywin Lannister. He rather agrees with me on that score.”

He bursts out laughing. “Then you do share words.”

“We do at times. It is inevitable with him being on the council. In fact, I am set to dine with him later this week.”

That takes him by surprise. Because of it he cannot help but joke, “Are you sure marriage to Stannis Baratheon is not a possibility?”

Now she frowns and with something approaching finality, she explains, “I would never consent to being good-sister to Lord Robert, but, even if I did, Lord Stannis has no current plans for marriage. As far as I am aware Lord Robert is concentrating on his own wedding.”

She tries and fails to keep her face free from emotion, not that he notices much beyond that. Yet another thing he tried to ignore. Everyone around him was eager to see that wedding though not everyone will be attending it. His father will not, though, Baratheon, Arryn, and Estermont were among the company leaving for Storm’s End in a few weeks. In father’s stead his new good-son, also the Regent’s brother, was slated to go. Cersei was leaving with her husband. He feels his hands clench by his sides while he damns his father for using this as an opportunity to parade the newly minted marriage. 

“One you will not attend.”

This time she laughs and takes another drink from the cup in her hands. “I left my own brother’s wedding feast before it died completely. Can you imagine going to a wedding where both the bride and groom detest you? It is best for us all if I do not go, I think.”

Even though he knows this is a questionable subject, he grasps for any opportunity to stop thinking about Cersei and Oberyn Martell again. “Lord Robert’s feelings on you I know, but, since when does Lady Lyanna detest you? She is not artful enough in containing her feelings.”

“It was my idea to keep Jon here. Even if it was the best decision for all of us, if I was in her position, I know I would. In addition to my brother and new good-sister…” He tried to return the false smile she gave him with one of his own before she continued, “I think Ser Gerold or Ser Barristan. I will have to speak to Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn regarding which one would be best.”

“You won’t write to the man himself.”

He bites his lip at the look she sends him. She sends him an unimpressed look. “It might be wisest to have someone intercede with respect to other possible guests and simply send a gift along to celebrate the wedding.”

Just how many were slated to go to this thing? Was this large retinue to celebrate a wedding of a high-lord or to ensure this bride actually gets to the destination? Both, he thinks. “Other guests?” 

Now this expression of hers, he knew. It was the one that tells him she was not sure of a particular course of action though she believed it necessary. “The ones that might not necessarily be welcome in Baratheon’s hall without some doing.”

Curious. “Which ones?”

“Lord and Lady Connington, for example.”

He thanked the gods he had not taken a sip of wine then otherwise he would have spat it out. “Certainly you are jesting?”

She almost looks pained. “Lord Connington is a lord in the Stormlands and we are at peace. It is high time we started to prove it. It would look odd if he did not go.” 

She said it as though she was trying to convince herself. Her reasoning was sound, but, peace was one thing…“And they detest each other.”

“That is why I hope to speak with Lord Jon and Lord Stannis in the hopes they assist to intercede.” 

It would be proper to do this, but, he can sympathize with the way she seems not to trust it will come to anything. But, it was not his place. “I wish you luck with that.”

She gives him a choked laugh. “I think I will need more than luck.”

He laughs in return. “If you say so.” He looks at her. Now she does look tired. He wonders how long he had been here. “I think I shall take my leave, I have kept you up.” He gestures to the wine. “Thank you.”

By the time he gets to her door thoughts of Cersei come flooding back. He had been foolish in thinking anything would prevent it, but, when he turns back to look at Elia Martell she was sitting in a chair her with gaze focused on her dead husband’s things. He does not know why but he coughs to gain her attention, “Princess?”

Her eyes snap to his. “Yes, Ser Jaime?” 

“Has it become easier?”

She blinks at him confusedly, “What?”

“Choosing to live one’s life alone.” 

The minute he stopped speaking, with that look she gives him, he knows he made a mistake. The silence hangs heavy and he silently chastises himself for saying anything at all. He should have just left. To his surprise, she gives him an answer. “Yes and no.”

It seems he truly cannot help himself and he laughs at her caginess. “That is not very helpful.” 

He is relieved she looks more thoughtful than upset. “One does miss true companionship though there is something rather freeing about not being hampered by expectations that same companionship brings.”

The words are bitterly said and bitterly heard. He does not want to believe her. Without Cersei what does he have besides a cloak he does not truly want? “You will not be Regent forever. Certainly you have hopes for yourself.” She flushes for a moment and he thinks she might kick him out even though he was on his way out of her rooms. “I apologize, it is not my place.”

Rather than seeming furious, she looks almost amused, though he can see the solemnity has not left her. “Do not apologize. Those are the same questions I ask myself.”

“And what answers have you garnered?”

“Your circumstances are not mine.” Even if there had not been stiffness in her voice he’d been a fool to ask her something like this. “If I was not Regent I would have had enough to occupy my time and attention. Of course, it is difficult to be alone in the Red Keep whether or not you desire company outside of one’s own children.”

He had not expected much of an answer, but, it was one. However, he still wants more than what she just told him. “How do you mean?” 

“Today, for example, it took me some time to get Ser Oswell and my ladies to leave me to my own devices after I prepared for the feast and then after it not even an hour passed before you found me again.”

He does not know how to react when he believes her amiable expression might be for his benefit. He inhales and takes a risk of a different sort, “Then would I be out of line if I offered to teach you how to properly wield that blade of yours.”

She returns, “There was nothing wrong with my stance.” She waits a moment. “Ser Jaime, we do have a fine weapon’s master here and you have other duties.” Her entire body screams ‘Do not pity me’.

He had not made the offer because of that, or at least not that was not the only reason. She was not entirely wrong about keeping occupied. Without it all he thought of was Cersei. It is why he put forth any of the effort into his duties he did. There are only so many council meeting he can attend, stories he could tell, or tourney’s he could practice for. He parries with Oberyn Martell because she was there and it gives him the opportunity to fight the man who would take his Cersei away from him. Soon enough, they will be gone too. That was why he was still here now. 

He says none of those things. “I aimed a blade at you once and I hesitated. Now you have done the same. It simply is shameful of us both though I doubt we regretted doing it. The weapon’s master would no doubt find reason to disapprove, Regent or not.”

She chuckles, her entire posture bleeding relief. “I suppose you are correct. I take it you are going to insist on teaching me whether or not you think I need it.” 

“As you say I am Kingsguard.” He will always be that. Grimly, he continues, “I think it falls under my purview to ensure you know to protect yourself. No one else will make such an offer and I think you have no reason to deny me.” 

She gives him a small smile. “Some might say it is overdue.” He fights a grimace, her brother obviously is among that number. For some reason, she starts to look apologetic, “I think we must discuss lessons at another time.”

Remembering her earlier words he bows, “I apologize, I have kept you too late.”

She waves it away, looking earnest. “Not at all, but, I doubt others will fail to notice if we are late or leave early when we are to break our fasts tomorrow morning.” 

He nods, already dreading the prospect of pretending to be the happy brother once again.

* * *

Alone in his rooms, when he puts his head down on his pillow once more, with nothing and no one to distract him, he still thinks of Cersei.


	12. Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Sorry for the long overdue update, but, between my new job and other personal matters, I just haven't had the opportunity until recently to write. Hope readers enjoy.

Elia asks, “Is it not to your liking?”

Stannis Baratheon frowns at her. “What?”

She gestures to his plate. “Is there something wrong with the dish?” 

He bites out, “It is fine.”

She presses her lips together. “I fear I still do not know your preferences well. I apologize if that is the matter.”

His face stiffens. “The dish is fine. Princess, more attention to my preferences is not necessary on your part.”

So he had noticed for all the good it seemed to be doing. Hoping he had not seen the worries on her face, she tries to smoothen out her own expression. But, then, he looks back down, his expression hardening further.

“Then, what is the matter, Lord Stannis?” What is the matter now?

Why was it always that look of shock when she asked him a question? There were considerations, decidedly not the food, when it came to Stannis Baratheon’s discontent, which concerned her. Perhaps she might not manage to make him content, but, she had to try. She always thought she managed to offend him in some way. Predictably, his tone is clipped. “There is a cat underneath the table.”

Her confusion quickly turns into embarrassment. “Ah, that would be Balerion. I apologize, I should have warned you.”

Again, that disbelief. She grimaces thinking of how she probably sounds like a fool. This was nothing she needed. She elaborates, “My daughter’s cat, Balerion.”

Her explanation is met with more incredulity. “Your daughter named her cat after the Black Dread.” And to think she actually welcomed his knowledge of Targaryen history. Idly, she thinks Ser Jaime would probably laugh at her now. 

“Prince Viserys named it, but, they both are fond of the cat. I suppose it is the way with children to enjoy the company of animals.”

He frowns as he does often. “Neither child is here.” No. She rarely had the children with her when she was with Lord Stannis and this evening required privacy. 

“Excitable pets make for excitable children. I thought it best to keep it with me.”

The man has a younger brother, he should understand that. And yet, looking at the severe face in front of her she questions her choice to have kept the cat with her. But, then, this is not the first time. It made a mess of things with Arthur. He looked so excited when he gave her the damnable laurel he won at the tourney celebrating Oberyn’s wedding, when part of her hoped he would have given it to Cersei or anyone else. She had not wanted it, yet, could not find a good reason to refuse it. Then Balerion attacked it. On one hand she had been glad she did not have to keep the laurel because it reminded her of the one she never received, but, Arthur looked as though he was grieving anew…

She nearly shook her head. She was not going to discuss that with Stannis Baratheon, who, of course, was looking at her oddly. 

To her surprise, he volunteers, “I saw him earlier. Prince Viserys, I mean.”

“Yes?” Perhaps it happened during one of those moments her good-brother was with Lord Arryn. It was no shortage of relief Arryn had taken well to his new charge, but, this…

“He called me ‘Cousin’.” 

She took a sip of wine to stall having to give a response. He looks uncomfortable. Elia understands. It was not an entirely incorrect term of address, but, under the circumstances it was probably best to get Viserys to stop. The last thing she needed was Robert to get wind of it and think it to be some sort of joke at his expense. “It would be no difficulty to instruct him to use a more formal address, if you like.” 

Again, an awkward look. “Why does he do it?” 

Lord Stannis looks as though he hopes to never have to face that possibility again. He likely will not. Lord Royce would be escorting Viserys to the Vale on the same day Lord Arryn leaves for Storm’s End; the same day this man does, and the Starks. 

For now, however, she has to give Lord Stannis an answer. 

“I suppose it was the Queen Dowager’s influence.” Dear Rhaella spoke of her cousins to her sometimes. No doubt she would speak to them to her son. Aerys would not have bothered with something like this; not this past year, at least. The only time Aerys took interest in his second son was shortly before sending him to Dragonstone with Rhaella. 

Baratheon nods slowly. After a while, despite a frown, he asks, “How is she? Is she still…” She tries not to laugh at how he cannot bring himself to finish the sentence, but, then, even that slight humor stifles when it seems as though he looks regretful he asked. 

“She writes she is well, but, it will still be some months before she can return I think.” She blinks to stop her eyes from beginning to burn. While she promised her son to a house whose loyalty had been half-hearted and her daughter to the house whose daughter was party to her humiliation, she made promises on Rhaella’s behalf. Now, when Rhaella returns Viserys will be gone. What could she say to a woman who suffered the loss of one son and her other will be taken from her? Despite Rhaella’s apparent understanding and approval, it would be her fault. 

The voice inside of her which says such sacrifices were necessary is not one she enjoys hearing, but, she tells herself she has to believe it. 

He speaks again. “Lord Arryn remarked about the way Prince Viserys does not speak of the King much, only that he loved him.” 

She takes a breath. It is something of an effort to get Lord Stannis to speak to her during these meals on his own accord and so she was startled by this. While it was very interesting that that Lord Arryn would want to mentor this Baratheon as well, she worries about what else Viserys would have said. Perhaps Lord Stannis’ mother and father used to speak of happier times with her good-mother before they died, but, what Stannis Baratheon knows of the king would be much different. 

“The Queen Dowager was responsible for much of Prince Viserys education.”

Lord Stannis frowns again. “There are matters...” Pure distaste. This one does not like rumors or rumormongers, but, neither were completely inescapable in King’s Landing and she knew he wanted information. He always did and there are rumors which she hopes which never come to exist.

“About what specifically?” 

“That the King was cruel her, his queen.” It was not a question. 

Bile rises in her throat remembering the bruises, the scratches, the tears, and more. She looks into those sharp, blue eyes. The both of them know the man made his own inquiries. There would not be one washerwoman who had not heard one ugly story or another; one handmaiden who used to see unspeakable things; guards who used to hear the unthinkable.

“There are many who remain ignorant of the worst of the King’s excesses.” 

“Is that why you still do not think of him fondly?” 

Stannis Baratheon speaking of fondness? She nearly laughed. To cover it she grabbed her goblet of wine again. May the gods forgive her for speaking on such things. “It pains me to say this about the dead even now and about a man who was my good-father, no less, but, it is a part of it.” 

“Why?” She takes another sip. Of course, Stannis Baratheon would be the type to ask such a question. 

While this one knew of the deaths Aerys ordered, she saw them and what came before and after. Rhaella might remember the man who Aerys was in his youth, but, Elia has no issue with disavowing him and often. Why should she think of Aerys fondly? He hated her. He terrified her. He meant to kill her.

“My mother used to say King Aerys had been charming in his youth. By the time I arrived in King’s Landing, it was rare he made the effort to be. Do not mistake me, if the mood struck him he could be warm to my children, yet, towards the end, those moments were few in between; even on his better days. That was before I learned of the wildfire.” 

He frowns again, but, as far as she could gather, he does not seem angrier than usual. A small mercy. “I see. So you have not forgiven him.”

Before, Aerys used to sneer at her “dirtied blood” and her lack of Targaryen features. Then he used to mock her for Rhaegar’s leaving. She had seen her good-mother on the day of hers and Viserys’ departure. She remembers the way he used to look at her with cruel, suspicious eyes and how he would demand to hold Rhaenys and Aegon with those callous, bloodied hands. Was she supposed to forget all that simply because she saw him die in a cruel manner? “Some things are very difficult to forgive; even if one tries.”

“You act as though you do, but, now your words with me say different.” 

She fights a smile. One of the earliest lessons she learned when she arrived here was that the luxury of speaking too plainly is not hers but, this one welcomes it, up to a point.

“One can try, whether or not one is successful is another matter entirely.”

“Is that why you wished to speak to me about Lord Connington.”

Elia takes a deep breath, only slightly relieved the man no longer desires to speak about Aerys Targaryen. But, this subject is just as precarious, perhaps more. The wedding would not be free from scandal, and this delay had not helped. Still, she wanted to know Jon’s and Ashara’s presence would not cause more of disaster. Perhaps it might, but, she had to try. “I could not approach anyone with this.” 

“You should contact Robert yourself. Or has Robert refused entirely?” Baratheon thrusts his knife into the piece of fish with more force than he usually does. She should tread carefully, then. She nearly snorts; she always has to tread carefully with any Baratheon she was with. 

“Your brother and I are do not know each other well.” She does not want to know Robert Baratheon either and she does not have to be at a table with the man’s brother to know the feeling is mutual. She coughs, “It would be foolish of me to think that I could convince him of much on my own, no matter how necessary I believe the activity to be. I have not asked him yet, I wanted to have your opinion first.”

He presses his lips together before replying, “If you lacked ability to influence Robert of anything or could not find the means to accomplish it, I would not be sitting here now. It is established matters will continue as they had before the war. Why would you need this, as well?”

He would have done well in Dorne, she muses. He always manages to surprise her with his own brand of directness. She presses down the thought. She did not want to meddle in the Stormlands more than necessary, gods know it was not worth the headache, but, for Jon and Ashara she had to try.

“This is a matter of rebuilding relationships which should be mended.” 

His jaw clenches. “There is more to it than reconciliation. Lord Connington fought against his liege-lord.”

She wonders if her mother ever felt the urge to simultaneously to try and box in a man’s ears or congratulate them for their approaches to statecraft. “Are you of the belief reconciliation cannot be done or should not be even attempted?”

“Certainly exceptions can be made regarding men who fought against my brother.” His mouth presses into a grim line again. 

“The war is over.” She ignores the look she gets and presses on, “I understand how difficult it is to overcome sentiments so soon in one’s past, but, Lord Robert did agree to the agreements made between this council and the Stormlands, particularly where the former king’s actions regarding attainders were concerned. Lord Connington himself suffered for the former king’s whims.”

His jaw twitches. “What King Aerys did, that has no bearing on whether or not Robert would find it easy to forgive Lord Connington’s refusing to head his liege-lords call and his taking up arms against other men of the Stormlands.”

“House Connington was not the only one. For example, Grandison, Fell, and Cafferen. I take it they will be in attendance.” One of Aerys favorite things to do in front of her was rant about false loyalties. The houses of the Stormlands were recurring subjects of conversation.

He grimaces at her. Then, he counters, “I am aware of who swore loyalty and when. Those others remembered their oaths to their liege-lord.” His back straightens. “That cannot be said of Lord Connington. Robert is the head of my house and it is his wedding. It is for him to decide who he welcomes in his hall.”

The gods know she does not want to discuss this more than necessary, but, to give in so easily would make her seem weak and she cannot afford that. “That is why I am asking for you to intercede, as his brother and a member of that house.”

“And yet you say this is a matter of State. If this was, you could easily go to anyone on council. You did not have to come to me.” No doubt he has his reasons for not wanting her to come to him with much, but, she would have had to eventually, even if he would not admit it to himself.

“Are you of the thought that mending relations can between the houses of the Stormlands can only be done by men of the Stormlands or that I do not have the responsibility to try?”

“Perhaps, Princess, but, if rectifying the rift between the houses of the Stormlands is all you wanted you could have gone to my Uncle Lomas.” 

Time for the truth, then. “He advised me to come to you. He intimated Lord Robert would not quite object, but, that you were the one who held Storm’s End. No one of any importance could deny your agreement should carry weight where his would perhaps not.” 

He looks aggrieved when she finishes. She mentally amends, Stannis Baratheon always looks aggrieved. Certainly he could not be surprised she would not come to him first if he was also suggesting it? Perhaps it is how his uncle left this for him. Or was it because she meant this as a compliment and did not believe it to be one? She fights a sigh. Who knows what to expect from Stannis Baratheon?

He begins grinding his teeth together. It is not the first time she wonders what it means. When he does speak, it is with great stiffness; but, at least he does despite the nature of the question. “Why is this so important to you, Princess?”

What good was all that effort and talk of wanting to move forward if people cannot do something as simple as be in the same room? She was Regent for her son, just barely. How could she continue to be one if members of her own son’s council refuse her? She will never forget how she became Regent. She never regretted hiding the issue which allowed this, but, she was here, with this man, because of what most consider an acceptable outcome, at best. It is more than her life’s worth if others stop believing it, but, she could not confide such truths to this man. There were, however, others she could. “It is important to me because Lord and Lady Connington are important to me.”

“Why?” Was friendship not enough? Looking at that grim expression she thinks perhaps not for some. 

Aerys’ banishment of Ashara after learning she was with child, Arthur going missing, and the loss of her daughter, knowing Ashara did not marry Jon out of love…Ashara deserves some happiness and some stability. If she goes to Griffin’s Roost, perhaps she can move forward. She knows there might not be forward for her. There should be for others. 

“Lady Connington came to court after my daughter was born to be my companion and is very dear to me. She should not suffer the discontent of her husband’s liege lord when she was not responsible for it. Lord Connington, I knew for years. As you say he fought for the king, but, had it not been for his own sense of duty I doubt he would have.”

“What sort of duty would have him fight so fiercely against his liege-lord?” Clipped as his voice was, at least, he asked the right questions.

“The duty which comes from knowing the king’s ire was already upon him for his friendship with my husband. The king repaid his loyalty terribly. If we were kept within our homes he was kept away from it. That does not sit well with me.”

Jon loved being in King’s Landing, or had once. There used to be a vibrancy about him the man who returned from Essos lacked. Though they did not directly speak of it, she knew he blames himself for not being at the Trident with Rhaegar. Arthur was no different. The air around the both of them is so thick with grief she could not look at them at times. Jon, as far as she knew, at least speaks to his kin without the hesitance that Arthur does with Ashara and Alnair. But, for him to go home could help in other ways. Still, she doubts voicing such sentiments will mean something to Stannis Baratheon, possibly less to his brother. 

“He was hardly the only one to be affected by King Aerys’ ire.” 

Baratheon’s face may as well be made of stone, but, what is stone when one lived with a dragon? “We both know that, my lord, but, if we do not show compassion to those who also suffered for the King’s ire, then what good are we?” 

His grimace returned. He has not forgotten, then. 

_“You were in a heavily guarded fortress with a Kingsguard about you. How is that being a prisoner in your home?” ‘As I was’ he leaves unsaid, but, she hears it._

_“The best guards can fail and even the most fortified of fortresses. As it is, what good is a guard, when, if on the orders of a King, you could remain unprotected?”_

_His eyes narrow. “You do not trust the Kingsguard? Jaime Lannister says he was with you at the time of King Aerys death.”_

_She remembers Ser Jaime standing above Aerys’ dead body, all too well. “Vows or not, three members of the Kingsguard helped my husband dishonor me, our children together, and my people by absconding with your brother’s betrothed and keeping her in the land of my mother’s. As for Ser Jaime, when not guarding the King it is proper for Kingsgaurd to guard the royal family, but, it scarce matters when the king meant to burn the entire city down.”_

_His jaw clenches and his frown deepens. “What do you mean?”_

_“Recently, we discovered another cache of wildfire”._

_“I know this.”_

_The Council knew now. She could not prevent Lord Stannis from asking questions, but, she would not waste the tools she does have to ensure he asks questions she could answer. That held true for all of them. “He used to call wildfire his champion. He used it against those who he perceived enemies even where none existed. After the battle at the Trident, how much use do you think he had for me and my children except as sacrifices to his favored champion?”_

_Disbelief pours off of him. “You were his good-daughter and your children, his grandchildren.” Such misaimed propriety, she thinks._

_“And you, my lord, and your brothers are children of his cousin.” It was a dangerous reminder of how being family did not stop Aerys from demanding Robert’s head, but, she needed Lord Stannis to understand how familial relations mattered to Aerys._

_“You would have me believe that there was a danger?" She saw the anger and suspicion in the way he shifted back. No matter. Even if he stalked out of the room, he would remember._

_“At best, King Aerys was unpredictable and he had had not been at his best.” When she cannot sleep, it was not because it was so easy to tell Ser Jaime to burn the body._

_Though he only glares, she continues, “Yes, I was his good-daughter, but, it was his own assessment that aside from my brother’s spears he had little use for me. 10,000 spears and my uncle’s death was not enough to alter his perception. As for my children, even without my son, King Aerys had his own who he sent to safety; one without my “tainted blood” as he used to call it. Dragons may not burn, but, suns do. That wildfire, my lord, tells me that once again, he saw wildfire as his champion.”_

Now, he replies gruffly. “Princess, I cannot and will not intercede in the matter of Lord and Lady Connington.”

Stannis Baratheon’s steadfastness is as problematic as it is refreshing, but, she needed him to be not an enemy or think of her as one. “I thank you for your candor, Lord Stannis, I will abide by your wishes and I will not speak of this with you further. Please.” She gestures for him to continue eating. 

Thankfully, he returns to look down at his plate and she wonders how offended he is by what she said. It was a wonder how much time she thinks worrying over that. 

They shared no more words that night until Oberyn arrives and he leaves with a curt, “Princess Elia, Prince Oberyn”.

When they were alone, Oberyn plopped down on a chair with his feet propped up on another. She thought about telling him to not lounge around like that, but, she would rather save her breath. Her brother clearly means to say something.

“I do not like you dining alone with him.”

She barely stops herself from sighing at this again. “Why? It is hardly the first time.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, you dine with various members of the council often, so much so that you rarely have time for me, but why him? Hot only is he a Baratheon-” He grimaces momentarily and hastily continues, “He is not particularly amusing.” She nearly laughs at the face her brother makes. She knows full well how bewildering Stannis Baratheon is.

“You mean Doran has not said for you to be friendly as possible with our northern neighbors?” 

Her brother does like rolling his eyes at her. “Gods, are you closer to my age or our brother’s?”

With as prim a tone she can manage, she argues, “I suppose it is times like these which shows that I was the one born earlier, even if it is only that one year.”

At his look, she laughs again. Oberyn replies, “Laugh all you want but do answer question.”

His words only make her laugh harder. “I do not need for my dining companions to be amusing. I need them to be intelligent. He is that. Besides, what else do you think I could do with him? Ask him to join me in the gardens or some such?” Even when the picture is amusing, she could not imagine such a farce. Tonight had been enough of one.

“Why dine alone with him?”

“He is the type to prefer privacy.” The items discussed for much of the evening also required it. 

“You could not keep a Kingsguard with you?”

Despite the distaste in his voice, she smiles at her brother’s concern. “Brother, if Lord Stannis was the type to attack a woman, which we both know he is not, he was not going to do it when more than one person knows where he is and with the Kingsguard outside. And anyone here can tell you his words cut more than any fork could.”

His arms cross at his chest. “I am glad to see you take humor in it.”

There was nothing humorous about what she discussed with Lord Stannis, but, she did not wish for anyone to overhear. “We discussed his plans for changing some of vendors of the ships' materials and then we discussed some more personal items.”

“You have not taken him into your confidences.” Oberyn looks at her with something akin to horror. It’s not a particularly good look on him, she decides.

“No. Just some things that best are left without many others knowing about aside from the few that already know. He had some questions that are best left secret.”

Amusement now gone, Oberyn sits up. “Such as?”

“Aerys, of course. Stannis Baratheon does not need me to speak ill of him, but, he can be rather persistent about certain things.”

Frowning, Oberyn considers that, “I suppose so. But certainly that is not it? It is not as though anyone would sing Aerys’ praises.”

“I wanted was to see what he would say about Ashara and Jon.”

His eyebrows nearly reach his hair. “And what did our dour Master of Ships say?” Oberyn does not sound so optimistic no matter if he does control the surprise. 

She shook her head. “He told me to go to Robert directly. He feels it beyond the scope of respectability to interfere in such matters.”

Then, Oberyn grouses, “Of course, the wedding which finally comes close. I still cannot believe you would have me go.”

She leans back in her chair. “One of us should go and I know the last face Robert Baratheon would want to see in his hall is mine.” The man was the least of all reasons she should not go. “At least I know, dear brother of mine, you would enjoy yourself thoroughly.” 

He smirks. “I think I should be offended that my sister is so eager to get rid of me.”

She snorts. “It would be remiss of me not to send someone. Who better to send than my other most dear of brothers?”

The look Oberyn gives her says he knows her thoughts all too well. Then, his lips twitch. “Your brother without a realm of his own to govern who also happens to be the least diplomatic among us?”

When she finally is able to suppress her laughter she replies, “I would send my brother who I love and who loves me in return.”

As she hoped, Oberyn snickers. “I take it my wife being the daughter of the Hand of the King, who also will not attend, has nothing to do with it?”

She frowns slightly. “Is that a refusal, then? Will you not go? Would Cersei object?”

Oberyn smirks. “Now, now, Sister, calm yourself. I knew I was going to have to attend. As for Cersei, she does not object to going. She seemed rather eager when my good-father mentioned it was important for a ‘Lannister to attend’.”

She nearly sighs in relief. “Speaking of Cersei, where is she? Or are you away from your new wife because she tires of you already?”

He smiles. “My wife is with her brother.” 

She nods. “And?”

Oberyn shakes his head. “I have seen men dying in greater cheer than Jaime Lannister seems to be capable of these days.”

She suspected aside from his sister’s leaving, the knight’s disposition was also affected by the woman who was no longer Jaime Lannister’s lover. She was unsure, but, Ser Jaime had not offered more than that and she asked for none.

She wondered if Cersei knew, not that she would ask. She could do nothing about it if Cersei did and told Oberyn what the matter with her brother was, but, she certainly was not going to violate something Ser Jaime said to her in drunken confidence. This place ought to have some secrets which remained buried. “Is there a reason he should be cheerful?”

“That his beloved sister is married to me is not enough?”

Elia cannot help but quip, “And yet you still wonder why he would be morose?”

Oberyn snorts. “You know full well he tried to threaten me when he learned I was going to marry Cersei.”

“Well, you did hold your own, did you not?”

His lips twitch. “I did.” Then, his face sobers.

“Speaking of Ser Jaime I heard him talking to the Master-at-Arms.” Ah, yes, that, she thinks.

Elia grinned. “Did you?”

She tries not to grin harder at the annoyed look Oberyn gives her. “Yes, he said something about practicing discretely.”

“It could not have been that discreet if you know what it’s about.”

Again, that nearly annoyed expression. “Don’t change the subject, Elia. Why would he need somewhere to practice where no one could see him? He rather thrives in martial settings.”

“As do you.” Then, she relents. “My stance needs work, apparently.”

“Your stance? What about it? It is fine.” If anything Oberyn’s look of disbelief intensifies. “Jaime Lannister is trying to take my sister.”

She nearly chokes on her own laughter.

“Are you quite done?” At the disgruntled look she begins to laugh even harder.

When Elia is calm enough, she asks, “Truly, Oberyn? ‘Take my sister’ indeed.” She waves her hand about the room, “Where could I possibly go?”

Oberyn harrumphed. “Well, if you recall, he did not want me to marry his sister. Now that it happened, he suddenly decides to give you lessons when he knows I was the one to give you that knife. Why else would he do that?”

A stray snicker escapes her. “I am sure it is nothing quite as nefarious.” 

“Oh, really?” Idly, she thinks that dubious look does not fit on her brother’s face.

“I imagine because he’s bored.” 

He snorts. “Being Kingsguard is not good enough for him?”

“Don’t act as though you think highly of the Kingsguard.” She wonders if she should have added some censure in her tone, not that Oberyn Martell was a man who could be cowed.

He crosses his arms across his chest. “It is not the institution which bothers me and that’s not the point.”

Deciding to leave it alone, she shrugs. “He came across me by accident and I surprised him with the blade. Perhaps it is a novelty for him. It was just a nice gesture.”

She gets a disbelieving snort in return. “I am sure it was.”

She coughs. “At any rate, all of King’s Landing lauds both yours and his markedly improved swordsmanship. Why should I not try to improve my own version of it?”

“You are quite amusing, Sister.” Despite his words, his lips twitch.

“I am so honored you think so.” She deliberately ignores the roll of his eyes, to ask, “Your competition with her brother aside, how is Cersei?” 

He smirked. “Mother and Father despaired of the way marriage had not agreed with me. You chose quite well. “

She worried. Cersei was a Lannister with all the pride that came along with it and her brother was a second son. Then there was the matter of Oberyn’s daughters; but, Cersei says she finds them ‘quite interesting’. At least, that was something. Still, she asks, “You are happy?” 

Oberyn sits closer to her. “Happy enough. Cersei Lannister is quite a wife, but, it does not mean I do not want to leave you here.”

Elia swallows thickly. She does not want her brothers to leave either, but, they must. “You have your own life and your children to care for.”

Whatever joviality in her brother there had been was gone now. He whispers, “I know. Doran said the same.” 

She bites her lip. “Doran told me that the preparations to leave are nearly complete.” For a moment she is over come with another wave of sadness, and much more to her chagrin, jealousy. Even before the war Aerys refused to let her go home and she would have never left her children behind to go. She might not have the opportunity to see Sunspear for years.

Oberyn nods. “They are, but, we will not leave until after the Starks and the Stormlords do.” 

She fights a sigh. He meant it as a comfort, but, she could not take it entirely as one. She would like her brothers to remain with her; but, they all know they cannot stay with her indefinitely, no matter how much she wishes it.

* * *

Elia is there the day the Starks leave. She is a mess of nerves though many are leaving.

She would have liked for Oberyn and Doran to be here, but, they were busy with their own preparations. To be fair, both the Hand and the Lord Commander were with her along with Rhaenys and Viserys, though Viserys would also be leaving today.

Lord Arryn informed her he would be bringing his wife to King’s Landing with him when he did return. She had not argued, not when it had been Lord Arryn’s idea to not take Viserys with him to Storm’s End.

As expected, Lord Estermont’s farewell was warmer than Lord Stannis’. Apparently, it was possible for him to be more severe. Knowing her own part in it, she had not kept him long.

Even that had been easier than the Starks coming across her. Lord Stark approached her first; Lyanna a half a step behind her brother; both of them dressed in black and looking somber and uncomfortable as she felt.

She took a breath to steady herself. Only a few more minutes. “Lord Stark. Lady Stark. I wish you well on your journey.” She wanted to keep it brief. She did not think she could handle too much more no matter they had been in her home for weeks.

Grim faced, Ned Stark spoke, “Thank you, Princess.” 

“Please inform me when you are returned to Winterfell, Lord Stark.” 

Lord Stark nodded, looking uncomfortable while his sister’s face hardened though the younger woman said nothing. “I will.” 

“Can I write too, Lord Wolf?”, came the piping reply from her daughter. 

Ned Stark looks down at Rhaenys, stricken at the reminder of how Rhaenys will be his good-daughter one day. Despite how she had thought to offer her daughter’s hand to his house, she feels a jolt at the same realization each time. Still, it was reassuring he attempts a smile. 

“Yes, Princess, you can.” 

Rhaenys gives him a bright smile before shuffling next to the Septa who came forward to collect her.

Then, everything about him screaming unease, he looks to her again and nods.

Lyanna remains silent. It is not a comfort knowing they already said what needed to be said. 

_“I am leaving tomorrow.” The dark haired girl, and in that moment that is what she looked like, was seated next to Jon’s crib. Her gaze is firmly on the child._

_“I know, Lyanna.”_

_“Without my son.” From the edge of her vision she could see the nurse frowning, but, she only acknowledges the Stark._

_“Jon will be taken care of.” Her honor demanded it. While some, no doubt, speculated, it had not been difficult to promise. Her daughter’s well-being and good-standing in her future home depended on Jon being raised properly._

_The girl’s gaze flies upon her. Elia sees the fire in those young eyes. The moment passes and the girl turns back to her sleeping child. Eventually, Lyanna says, “Ned will expect letters.” It was not a question and something long since established that regular reports would go to Winterfell, not Storm's End for obvious reasons. Lyanna would write and she would respond to her, but, aside from allowing visits that was to be it; for now, at any rate._

_“But, you will write to me if there is a need.”_

_A flare of irritation rose up at being questioned again. She welcomed Lyanna Stark as a guest her home after her trespasses with her husband. She would be the one to see someone else’s child in her children’s nursery. She agreed to give her husband’s son a proper upbringing. A person can have only so much temperance._

_She took a breath and tried to remind herself that Lyanna was young still and a mother preparing to leave her child to a woman many would see as her rival. She spoke carefully, the same words she spoke many times over. “I swore to you that I would and I meant it.”_

Now, Lyanna glances at the wheel-house containing the guest gifts. Lyanna Stark would rather have her child than those, but, that cannot be. It is far too late for that.

Saying nothing to one another, they nod at each other. It is almost a jape. Then, the Starks step back and climb atop their horses.

There is no lightness in her when the Starks are finally gone. There cannot be. 

Today was the day she firmly separated two children from their mothers. She might not owe Lyanna Stark more than what she promised her, but, she had made promises. She thinks of the letter on her desk intended for Rhaella and wonders if men who foster sons either out or in feel as wretched as she does. In some years, she will lose her daughter to the North too. But, there was nothing for it now. She committed and must see her decisions through.

* * *

When she goes to the nursery after, Sers Oswell and Arthur give her wary looks. She wonders if they volunteered. Ser Gerold had frowned at her when she announced she would be come here, but, said nothing. How apt was it that it be these Kingsguard on duty today? 

The pair tense as she goes closer to the children. It was as if they could not possibly believe she was there for other reasons than seeing her son and the child under her charge.

She does not know whether to lash out in irritation or laugh in their faces. How stupid or petty do they think she is? Even if she was the type to hurt a child why would she do anything to disrupt the show of good-faith the moment she was granted it? 

She reminds herself not to react badly. Instead, she takes a seat next to Aegon’s crib, determined not to move until she tires or they say something. She lived long enough to know men will think what they think. If they want to be wary for no reason, she will let them.

Hours later, she was still there when a knock sounded on the door. She ignores the hushed voices until, “Princess?”

She looks up from the two children with matching indigo eyes she was gazing at to look into a pair of green ones. “Ah, Ser Jaime. What can I do for you?”

With a slight bow, he speaks with a formality he usually does not bother with. “I would hope that you allow me to escort you to the Great Hall for the evening meal.” He glances at his two ‘brothers’ and hesitates before speaking again. “I am afraid your absence midday was noted, Princess.” At that, she nearly sighs. In her act of belligerence she _had_ skipped the meal.

When the two other Kingsguard in the room begin to look hopeful, she cannot help herself. “Thank you, Ser Jaime, but, I do not believe I am particularly hungry.” 

Others would leave her be in silence, but, not apparently Jaime Lannnister, who smiles slightly. “At the risk of being impertinent I already promised your brothers and my father I would escort you safely to the Great Hall on my honor as brother to your good-sister and as Kingsguard”. 

Ser Jaime has become more deliberate with his words of late. Though Oberyn’s jovial half-complaints about his wife’s brother come back to her, she finds she does not mind it much; definitely not with the way Arthur and Ser Oswell stiffen.

Making her choice, she rises and he extends an arm. “I see. Well, it would not be right for me to cause others to doubt your word of honor.” Though she meant the words for the older two knights she kept her gaze fixed on the youngest.

“Thank you. I would greatly appreciate that.” Ser Jaime smiles cheerfully. Both Ser Oswell’s and Arthur’s expressions shift. Perhaps it was because they are relieved she was leaving or because they could not find a way to get her to leave while their ‘brother’ could. She did not know. Today, she finds she does not much care.

When the door behind them closes the knight speaks again. 

“In two days I believe I will be responsible for your person again.”

“Yes?”

“I spoke to the Master-at-Arms.” Ah! That was what he was after.

She snorted, “So my brother said.”

A slow smirk makes its way across his face. “He spoke to you about it. Good.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “You are determined he knew.” Despite his brashness, she knew her brother to be quite perceptive. 

“I merely said that I was responsible for your safety, but, it helps if someone can help themselves. Besides, who better placed to teach you than I now that he is to be gone?”

Remembering the scene from mere moments ago, a reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “You dare too much, Ser Jaime.”

He laughs, "At times, one must dare too much."

For a moment, it almost feels like benediction.


	13. Stannis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: This chapter contains references to war-time activity, questionable "food" intake, and a whole host of unresolved family-issues.

“Why Balerion? Didn’t Rhaenys ride Meraxes?”

Stannis nodded approvingly, though he determinedly kept his gaze on his younger brother and far from the elder. It was more than enough this wedding went forward, but, now Renly decides to ask these questions.

“Good, Renly. You have been paying attention to Maester Cressen’s lessons.”

“Answer the question.”

Hearing the tense laughter from beside him, Stannis frowned at Renly. 

His little brother has become too impertinent in his absence. “I spoke too soon. Clearly you have not been paying attention to the ones about manners.”

Seeing Renly barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes, he clenches his jaw. Not a few weeks Robert and this is what passed for Renly’s behavior? Though he still harbors doubts, he supposed it was a good thing Arryn would be taking him. It was bad enough…Clutching his fork more tightly, he tells himself not to think on that now. 

Thankfully, Renly takes a different approach. “Answer the question, please, Stannis?”

In no mood to try and find a way around the question, he grimaces and explains, “Prince Viserys named the cat. You will have to ask him.” 

Renly is taken aback. Then he looks to Robert only to turn back to him, worry plain on his face. Stannis felt his jaw clench more tightly. Of course, Robert would speak ill of the Targaryens, even the younger ones he rarely saw. “Can I?” 

From the corner of his eyes he sees half of the occupants of the High Table stiffen.

Had Robert not remembered? Not likely. He scowls. Robert would be the type to leave the unpleasant to him and then take him to task for how he does it. “It was decided Prince Viserys was going to be fostered with Lord Arryn long before it was determined you would be. He will be there by the time you take your leave of here.”

Robert trying not to scowl at him. An attempt at restraint, perhaps? He supposed Lord Arryn’s presence had much to do with it. Then again, no doubt Robert felt it inconvenient to be seen arguing with his brother at his wedding feast. How they have not come to blows yet is something of a mystery in itself. 

“What is he like?” His irritation rises at the concerned tone. What nonsense had Robert been filling Renly’s head with? 

He gazed at the Dornish contingent. He knew why Prince Oberyn and his new Princess were here and he knew the Princess Regent cared for the younger Targaryen. Having it suspected Robert was spreading tales about the boy would cause nothing but trouble and he was the one who would be in King’s Landing to receive it. 

He tries not to sigh. At least, Lord Connington was not present. Instead, it was decided Robert would be a guest at Griffin’s Roost after this wedding. Allowing the new Lady Connington time to adjust to her new surroundings was the excuse for the delay. 

He returns his gaze to Renly. Robert’s ire is consistently directed towards him because he tells him the truth, though that is what brothers should do. Robert rarely sought him out before. Now it was as though Robert found no shortage of time to have words with him, or rather, for him. This way he could say he earned it. “He is boy your age, like any other.”

Robert is displeased, but, at least, Lord Arryn nods approvingly at him. 

“Oh, all right. Is he going to bring the cat with him?” Renly’s voice becomes fainter with that question. 

Seeing the usually frustratingly effervescent boy turn inward on himself fills him with dread and anger. Damn it all! He knew this would happen. But, no, Robert just had to marry his Stark girl…

He spoke deliberately. “It belongs to Princess Rhaenys. I doubt he’d separate it from her. Besides, I doubt either of you will have times for such things whilst in the Eyrie.”

Was that relief or disappointment on Renly’s face? He was unsure. Before his leaving for King’s Landing, Renly had been a constant presence. Before all of this madness, he would have been certain how to speak to Renly.

“What is it, Renly?” The question comes from Robert’s new wife causing another flare of annoyance to rise up. She might be wearing jewelry denoting her status as Lady of Storm’s End, but, did she think anyone could not see this play concern for his family for anything other than what was? A ploy to curry favor where once it might have been given gladly. 

Much to the surprise of everyone at their table except for him, Renly stammers out a reply, “I had one, you know, a cat. Or at least it used to prowl around near my chambers.” Then, he frowns again. “May I be excused?”

Robert looked confused at Renly’s abrupt question and when his older brother’s eyes turn towards him. Of course, now his advice is desired. He briefly glanced around Maester Cressen. Had the old maester not informed Robert? He frowned. Likely, Robert hadn’t wanted to hear. Still, with Robert looking at him imploringly, he nods sharply.

After Renly leaves, Lord Arryn speaks, “If Lord Renly desires, he is more than welcome to take his cat with him when we leave.”

It was too late for the older man’s genuine concern. 

“I thank you, but, that is not necessary. There is no cat anymore.” The night when he gave the order had been a stormy one. It was only one memory in a long series he cannot forget. Being here once again does not help matters at all.

“What happened to it?” Robert sounds as though he is forced to ask the question though he does not want to know. 

His anger flares even more seeing Robert’s wife’s curiosity. “It contributed to a barely passable stew.” 

He sees Robert stiffen when Lyanna Stark gasped. On his other side, Uncle Eldon inhales sharply. Uncle Lomas puts down his fork and nearly pushes his plate away. 

For his part, he takes another sip of that Dornish Red Prince Oberyn’s party brought with him and then studies the contents of the glass.

Robert and those around him never needed a reason to indulge. He never understood the urge before now, though he takes little joy in it. Joy was something he rarely experienced. Sitting at the High Table watching these guests celebrating this farce of a union is certainly no cause to feel any, let alone recounting this. “Or so Renly had said. I did not eat any. I gave him my portion that night.” 

He puts down the glass to take up a knife and pierce the roast in front of him. After taking a bite he looks up to see those near him trying to curb their horror.

“You fed him his cat.” Such disgust these men were capable of. Did they think he did such things because he enjoyed doing them?

After taking another bite which causes more than one of them to cringe, he acknowledges, “The meat the cook could get from it. Storm’s End was under siege, after all.” Did people think food was readily available when surrounded by enemies? Even the animals had been starving. 

“The horses were gone by then. We had to spare some of the dogs.” 

Oh, how troubled they look now. His revulsion of them grows. Because the sting of Robert’s words the first day of his return is still potent in his mind, he feels no shame in adding, “It was either feed Renly the cat or let him starve. I chose to do right by my brother.”

If they lived it or acknowledged he had to, mayhap Robert will realize where his many objections to this union lay and stop looking at him as though he was the one in the wrong for having them in the first place.

“Stannis-” came Robert’s sharp murmur. Yet again, a warning. Ah, of course, Stannis thought distastefully, Robert would rather protect the Starks’ sensibilities rather than acknowledge his truths.

_“Stannis, when I sent you to King’s Landing it was not so you could antagonize Lyanna and Ned.”_

_Not one hour passed since he arrived. Perhaps he ought to have stayed in King’s Landing. Looks which spoke of treason were preferable to this. “They came crying to you, did they?”_

_“How could you have said such things?” Of course, Robert would take their part. Why should he expect otherwise? He was just the one who shared Robert’s blood._

_“I told them the truth.”_

_“And woe to anyone who would expect some courtesy from you, is that it?”_

_He shrugs. “Curtesy has nothing to do with it. If they do not like what I say, it is no fault of mine. I do not require they like me at all.”_

_Robert throws his hands up. “Fine, you do not like them. Though I cannot fathom why, trust me, I am aware. But, did you have to be that honest, then?”_

_His eyes narrow. “You expect me to lie?”_

_Robert, through gritted teeth, counters, “That’s not the point.”_

_“No, the point is that your insistence on making Lyanna Stark your wife is maddening!”_

_Robert’s hands clench at his sides. “You always knew that I wanted to marry her. She was my betrothed!”_

_He spits back, “So did she! It didn’t stop her from bedding our cousin, did it?”_

_“Don’t you dare, you insolent fool!”_

_This time, his arms twitched. “Oh, of course. Not only am I a monster for speaking my own mind, I am a fool, too! But, then, it is my own fault for thinking about anyone but your precious Starks.”_

_Robert stood up. “Don’t you dare-”_

_“What? What are you going to do? Yell at me some more? Hit me? Kill me? Become a kinslayer?”_

_Robert seemed like he desired nothing more than to risk it._

_He had not seen Robert move so fast nor looking so fearsome. His face was hard and red and he stood poised with his hands balled up in fists. It was only because he was just as incensed, he stands his ground to spit out, “I suppose the gods would forgive you because we both know who you think of family and to hell with those of your blood!”_

_He braces for a strike when Robert raises a fist and lurches forward._

_Instead, Robert lets out a yell of frustration only to turn away, breathing heavily. When Robert looks at him again, his eyes are narrow enough to be slits. “Though you do not even believe in the Gods, let alone their curses, you would like that wouldn’t you!”_

_“My beliefs are not the matter, Robert! And if you cared about what my likes were we would not be having this conversation!”_

_Robert angrily presses, “Damn you, Stannis! What matters that you refuse to curb your tongue!”_

_“They were the ones to seek me out! I did not demand their presence or their questions!”_

_Robert pursed his lips. Then, he grinds out. “I suppose you would say that it was my own fault for thinking you capable of tact!”_

_He bares his teeth. “So you would have me be a liar?”_

_Robert’s hands twitch. “Oh, for-There is a difference, Stannis.”_

_“Not from where I stand, Robert.”_

_Robert hisses, “Must you be determined to hate them?”_

_Now, his eyes narrow. “Why are you so determined that I like them when you know I do not!”_

_“They are to be family.”_

_“Because you seem determined to make them so!”_

_“What do you want me to do?” His eyes widen, but, not in shock. “Or is it that I did not repudiate her in the first place?”_

_Yes! But, he had been such a fool because he knew that would require Robert thinking of anyone else but his precious Starks. “It is not as though you could not have and had all the reasons to do so.”_

_“I could not do that to Ned.”_

_He is unmoved by the plea in Robert’s voice. Why should he be when Robert all but tells him again and again that it is Stark who matters not his brothers or his people. “When his sister spits upon your friendship with him, why should you honor the arrangement? Did you even try to get out of it? Did you think he would object?”_

_“No. You are right. I did not try to object and I think he would not have objected. Is that what you want to hear?”_

_He snarls, “What I want to hear is why you insist on marrying her.”_

_“I love her.” Love? Robert’s blind mulishness is infuriating!_

_“She has made it quite plain she does not love you. Why not marry the daughter of a bannerman who proved his loyalty. If not among them you could have any woman you wished. You have taken enough willing ones from what I hear. Why not anyone else?”_

_“They are not the ones I want to marry.”_

_“She is not worthy enough.” The very thought of her being Lady of Storm’s End sickens him._

_Robert crosses his arms across his chest. Was it to continue to curb the urge to strike him? “That is for me to decide.”_

_Despite being far too old for such a reaction, the urge to vomit is a strong one. “Is it? I dare you tell that to anyone affected by her decisions.”_

_Robert’s eyes narrow. “That was-”_

_Disgusted, he nearly spits. “Oh, spare me. She could not be loyal to her own family and she certainly was not to you. You and that damn brother of hers you love so much are the only ones who refuse to see it. She is not fit to shine Mother’s shoes let alone take her place as Lady of Storm’s End after that debacle.”_

_Robert became redder. “Do not bring Mother into this! As for being Lady of Storm’s End, you forget she is the sister of the Lord of Winterfell.”_

_How many times does he have to hear it? He hates being here again and he still believes Storm’s End deserves better. Robert, infuriating as he is, deserves better. Mother died doing her duty to family, this one only does it now because there are no excuses for her not to._

_“She was the daughter of one, too. Look what happen to him because of her.”_

_Robert uncrosses his arms to lift a fist, but, once again returns it to his side with a jerk. “You do not have to tell me about what happened to Lord Rickard. I was the one who went to war.” Robert takes a deep breath and then another. “I am your brother and your liege-lord. If you have any love for me, any loyalty to me at all, you will accept the wedding is to go forward and Lyanna is to be my wife.”_

_“And if you have any love for me, then you would do well to remember that I have stood beside you time and time again. ‘Hold our home, Stannis. I need you to protect it, for me, for you, for Renly.’ I did that!”_

_Robert hisses, “I know this. Is it my gratitude you want?”_

_“No. I just want you to remember she dishonored us once. If she does it again-”_

_“It’ll be on my head, then, won’t it?”_

He blinks back the memory when the song struck up. How _dare_ they? 

The serving girl passing by stumbles slightly. The ladle clangs against tureen she was holding. Her face pales.

He turns sharply to look at the Steward. 

The expression on the grizzled face was impassive, unless one knew where to look. Shock and embarrassment. The Steward gives him a small shake of the head.

He looks to the offending musicians. Oh, of course! Robert hired two sets of musicians; one from among their people and one from his new wife’s. The Southron ones at least would have the decency to think to ask what music not to play.

He nods at the Steward. The Steward gives a relieved bow before discreetly making his way over to them. Marginally satisfied, he turns his attention to the embarrassed looking girl.

“Steady there.” 

She pivots so she is only looking at him, stammering out, “My lord, I-” 

Needing no explanations, he nods sharply and growls out, “ _I know_. Go on about your duties.” 

“Yes, m’lord.”

The Steward returns, trying not to look relieved, yet, Stannis knows the man cannot bring himself to look at Lyanna Stark. The serving girl moved along, but, her gait was unsteady to his eye. The girl also avoids looking at the seats of honor at the High Table. 

The last time he was here, the household wanted Robert, not his dour, younger brother. Though it was on Robert’s orders, the resented him for holding Storm’s End as he had. Now, they smile at him, even if the expressions come out pained. 

It was a small mercy most of the wedding guests were not from Storm’s End. However, there was no mercy for him. 

When the brother of the Lord of Storm’s End issues an order with the Lord present it is an oddity and so it was remarked upon by those in the vicinity.

“What is that about?” 

He breathes out through his nose. “The song.”

“What about it?” 

The glances directed at Robert’s new wife and her brother by his mother’s uncles, filled with trepidation, tells Stannis all he needs to know. They do not like the reminder. It ruins the illusion they long for.

He can almost taste their curiosity and alarm of the others.

They do not want to know, but, they must. Since the question is asked, he will answer, _gladly_.

“Mace Tyrell’s host used to play it and others like it. No matter where you went, how high or how far from windows you stayed you kept hearing those same songs, even after they stopped because of a storm or because they got tired of celebrating that night. There are more than a few of the household who dread such jaunty music now.” Robert would have known it if he cared, but, as always, Robert’s care was directed elsewhere. 

Because of it, he sits watching as those near him begin suffering from flushed faces and pinched lips. 

For once, Robert sits without his usual grace, face flushed; merriment all but gone. Lyanna Stark looks down at her plate. Ned Stark looks anywhere except for at him. His uncles and Lord Arryn were sending discreet looks at the other servants, as if to determine whether or not this would remain the only such incident. 

Robert’s insistence on indulging the Stark’s whims, including having two ceremonies to reflect their different traditions, made it obvious more than one person shared his dubiousness about Lyanna Stark. This was the newest example. Likely, it will not be the last. 

He went back to eating his roast. He feels no pity in how the others were slower to do so, if they could at all. 

Robert, her brother, and the lords could chatter all they liked about Lyanna Stark’s supposed virtues, as if her agreement now righted anything when her actions lead to what transpired here.

His brother made his choice. They all will have to live with it. At least now they cannot ignore what it is like for him and others to see her and be assaulted with memories which do not fade.

Time and time again, he told them. If they deluded themselves into thinking Lyanna Stark would be a suitable lady for this house, it was not his fault.

Feeling Robert sit so stiffly beside him, he knows being proven right will not matter. He remembers the first of their confrontations too well. On the heels of this, he knows it will not be the last.

* * *

As he expected, the next day, after they broke their fasts in the Great Hall, Robert’s voice rounded on him. “My Solar, now!”

When there, Robert pours a cup of wine and drinks it in one large gulp. His brother means to fortify himself, then. Sitting in a chair at the other end of the room he thinks perhaps he should have done the same. 

Instead, he looks around. ‘His Solar’, Robert said. It used to be Father’s. 

In their father’s day the desk made of dark, polished wood would not have been littered with paper as it was now. For a time, even he used it. No longer will he have the right. He doubts Robert would invite him to this room ever again for anything but chastisement.

His breath catches seeing the portrait of his parents. It is not the first time he sees it, but, it is the first time since he arrived. He is stricken by how happy they look. 

He averts his eyes. Though it is a foolish thought he believes if he looks at it again he might make out disappointment in their features. Cressen was disappointed enough in their inability to act as brothers ought to.

_“Lord Robert, Lord Stannis, what is this? I can heard raised voices beyond the corridor. Is all well?”_

_Robert flushed. “It is nothing, Maester.”_

_Cressen turned his weather-aged face towards him, expression showing them all his disappointment. “I heard raised voices.”_

_Unlike Robert, he did not flush, but, it was a near thing._

_The Maester knew them both too well to believe it was not nothing. He still has to try. “We were just having a discussion.”_

_Dubious was the look they get and Cressen's tone contained more than slight unease. “The Lord of Storm’s End arguing with his brother the day before his wedding? How would it look, if someone else had overheard? We have guests.”_

_Though Robert turns away from the Maester in embarrassment, he starts to grind his teeth. The guests and their purpose for being here were chief among his problems, but, no one wanted to hear what he had to say, Robert among them._

All too quickly Robert turns towards him with narrowed eyes. He barks, “You could not help yourself, could you?”

Even today, the Maester’s hope will prove fruitless. With the ache in his head building at the thought, he returns, “Help myself about what?”

Robert’s face purples, “I wager you enjoyed it, didn’t you? Did you go to bed happy trying to ruin my wedding feast?”

At that, he sneers back, “My happiness? You once claimed you doubted my ability to feel any. Besides, I thought it was well established nothing about this wedding was going to make me feel happy.” 

“Damn it, Stannis! Did you have to embarrass Lyanna and Ned by dredging that up?”

He accuses, “They are embarrassed?” If he was the type to laugh he would have.

Robert’s eyes narrow. “When Lyanna was first introduced, did you think I did not see looks given her? The serving wench at the feast was one thing, but, not even our Steward could help it last night because of your encouragement!”

His own narrow in the face of Robert’s response. “How is your refusal to acknowledge what went on here during that damned fool war my fault? I warned you!”

Robert snaps, “Do not! You did not warn. You insulted, you argued, you berated, but, never warned!”

He fights down his rising irritation. “When a man’s brother demonstrates any sort of misgiving, even the simplest fool would take that as a warning.”

Robert’s cheeks redden. “So you thought harping on unpleasant subjects would be a feasible alternative?”

“It is better than trying to deny the truth.”

Robert throws up his hands in frustration. “And as if it was not enough that the servants are uncomfortable around Lyanna, now you’ve got Renly interested in that dragonspawn!”

 _That is what Robert found objectionable?_ The little Targaryen boy? Not the fact that his brothers were down to rats or that their household has ample enough reasons to disapprove of the new ‘mistress’ he foisted upon them? 

Very well, if Robert desires his rationale, he’ll indulge him. “You were the one who told me Lord Arryn agreed to foster Prince Viserys. Sending Renly to him was your idea. Did you think he was going to keep the both of them ignorant of each other?”

Robert flushed as he growls out. “That’s not the point. They will be living together! What if they become friends?”

He scoffs, “Not one second did I step back on the bay attached to Storm’s End did you round on me about hurting your precious Stark’s feelings. You are always going on about how fortunate you were in your fostering and how lucky you were to form such long lasting friendships. Now you find such things undesirable?”

Even as he asked that question he knew what was to come. “Why would I want Renly to be friends with him? You know what they did?”

If anything, Robert’s question only infuriated him. He knew damn well what the Targaryens and their supporters did! Last night Robert had no recourse but to acknowledge what he went through and still he argues as though he was speaking to a green boy. Through gritted teeth, he slowly manages, “What does that have to do with the boy?”

“How can-What does this-”

“He’s a damned boy.” The boy is not even the problem. 

“He won’t be forever and he is one of them.”

“Viserys is not Rhaegar. He is not Aerys. That is why Arryn took him, was it not?” Perhaps it merits repeating, for all the good it seems to be doing him.

Enraged, Robert points a finger at him, “Do not say their names!”

Disgusted, he spits out, “Oh, you hate them so much that you cannot even stand to hear their names, is that it?”

“They do not deserve to be remembered!” 

In his righteous fury, Robert only seems to grow taller. Even, then, he finds it so easy to sneer back, “Is that so?”

“Yes, it would be just.” 

His lips curl. “How is it you would feel scorn for a boy you’ve not seen yet done nothing except reprimand me for feeling the same against the girl who earned my disdain and her brother who defends her unabashedly? Justice? You crushed Rhaegar Targaryen’s chest in! Aerys is dead. You got justice! And here you stand, inflicting Lyanna Stark’s presence on those she wronged and I am to swallow it when she played no small part in that war we were dragged into because your attachment to her family. Go on, brother, tell me, where is the justice in that? You want to pity her? Go on, and laud her all you wish, but, do not expect the same from anyone else; especially not me.”

Robert takes a step forward. “The Mad King killed men! Rhaegar preyed upon her youth. You know damned well, she has done no worse than they.”

He rises and straightens his shoulders. “So I am to excuse everything she does because others have done worse?”

“Yes!”

“Then, where are your excuses for me? There is not one thing I have said, not even done, you find a reason not to excuse, but, for her you and her brother will pull out all manners of justifications.”

“I am not asking you to forgive her or like her or Ned. Yet, they are family, though I can see that is not going to move you.”

“You choosing to ignore the very possibility is no fault of mine.” 

No doubt, in growing aggravation, Robert runs a large hand through his hair. “Fine, I admit it is my fault for thinking you capable of warmth.” 

“But, it is not just me is it? It galls you, how you cannot ignore what I have been telling you all this while.”

Robert accuses, “There was never a problem until you arrived.”

He corrects, “There was never a problem before Lyanna Stark arrived.”

“No one could have foreseen this!”

He almost laughed in Robert’s face. Instead, he sneers again, “No one could have foreseen how Lyanna Stark would be received here? Is that what you believe? Did you think to ask anyone who lives in Storm’s End? No, you did not. You asked her brother who you hold so dear and a handful of forgetful, visiting lords. You asked anyone and everyone who are not forced to suffer her presence!”

Robert sneers back, “It bothers you, that much being near, does it?”

If anything, the question makes him angrier. “‘Does it bother me?’ Now when there is nothing to be done about it you ask? Yes, it does bother me. She bothers me. That you married her, despite knowing better, bothers me. That you defend her to me even now knowing my mind will not change bothers me. Being back here and to celebrate this farce of a union bothers me. Yet, none of that compares to how you are not concerned of my being bothered at all.”

Robert raises his chin. “Well, then, Stannis, it need not bother you any further. Being here no longer needs to be your bother. You will leave when the guests do. In fact, unless I call you, you do not need to return if it bothers you so much.”

He lets the words wash over him. He is banished. He should have expected it. Robert would always side with the Starks against him. That this was Robert’s chosen punishment was also not a surprise. He was under no illusion that there was fraternal care behind the relatively mild nature of it. If Robert had done something more extreme it would not be Robert who would be on the receiving end of the inquiring eyes or unpleasant whispers.

He bows his head and turns to leave. “Yes, my Lord.”

“That is it?” 

He clenches his jaw once more. Now, what? 

What more did Robert want from him? He had done enough of his duty as he could. His brother’s demands stretch his parameters too far. “You are lord of Storm’s End and I will abide by what you have decided.”

And yet, Robert looks unsatisfied. It is irritating. Robert dislikes when he argues, he dislikes when he obeys. Which one was it? “What more do you want me to say, Robert? Tell me so that we could be done with this!” 

Robert throws his hands up. “This is not about what I want you to say!”

“Then, what do you want me to _do_? You wanted me to hold Storm’s End, I held it. You wanted me to go to King’s Landing, I went. When you told me to return here, I did. Now, you desire me gone, did you think I was going to beg you to let me stay?” 

Rather than answer his questions, Robert accuses, “Do not play the martyr, Stannis it does not become you.”

Thoroughly indignant now he feels his face redden further. “Of course, you would see it that way!”

“How else would I see it? You sit there reciting a litany of things you’ve gone through and done though you refuse to do the one thing I need from you.”

“You’ve always needed things from me, but, I reached my limit.” He steps back. “When you make it plain whose company delights you more, and with Renly also leaving, is there a reason I should stay? You think of me as a traitor for disliking the one who gleefully birthed the insult to our family, though you sent me where I have to see the result when she is to play at being a lady in my home. At least, when I am seen as a traitor in King’s Landing, it is because I have done something to earn it.”

Once more he braces for Robert to strike him. Robert nearly does. He thinks he might welcome it. 

Instead, Robert pulls back and snarls, “Get out, Stannis, before I do something I truly regret.”

He slams the door behind him and not a second later the sound of something shattering behind the door fills the hallway. 

Taking in mouthfuls of air, he stalks down the hallway thinking it fortunate no one heard them this time.

* * *

He turns at the sound of footsteps and looks to see two familiar shapes. “Renly, what are you doing here? Get back inside. Take Patchface with you.” 

The Fool was enough a constant reminder of his parents’ deaths. He does not desire to be near him now. It was bad enough his younger brother sought him out so soon after his most recent confrontation with Robert. 

The fool begins to sing, “The boys cry at the broken toy not easy to mend, I know, I know…”

He returns to looking at his parents’ grave markers, trying not to yell at the Fool in front of Renly. He is tired of yelling. 

Though he does not turn around his brother’s piping voice comes from somewhere almost beside him. “There will be a storm soon.”

He scoffed. “There is always a storm, Renly. It is reason enough for you not to be venturing out here.”

“You and Robert fought again.”

He turns around again. Had they been another sort of brothers he would have thought Renly wanted to reach out and embrace him. He claps his jaw shut tight. A foolish notion. “How did you even know?”

Renly frowns at him. Grimly, he acknowledges Renly never frowned so easily before. Then Renly asks, “Was it because of because of what I said at the wedding?”

He inhales sharply. “Robert and I would have fought over something or another.”

His explanation does not seem to comfort Renly. “It was my fault.” 

“Hardly.” Even after that assurance Renly looked as though he was trying not to cry. To avoid it becoming a real possibility, he hastily adds, “Robert and I rarely see things the same way.” 

That was the mildest manner in which he could put it.

Renly agrees. “That is what the Maester said.”

Appalled, he asks, “Cressen said it to you?”

Uneasily, Renly supplies, “To Lord Arryn.” 

His irritation flares anew. What was Cressen doing discussing their private matters? And Arryn? He knew Robert loved Arryn and he respected the man, but, what gave him the right? Had they forgotten Steffon Baratheon had existed once? They dare too much! Both he and Robert were men grown. If they argued, it was no one else’s concern. 

Seeing the guilty look on his brother, instead, he asks, “How do you know?” Even as he asks the question, he frowns in realization. “You know better than to be snooping around.”

“I do not like it when you fight.”

Looking at the markers again, he takes a breath. “It had nothing to do with you. This wedding-” He halts and takes another breath, “I think we are quite done with it now.” Renly does not need to know how true it is. 

“Are you certain?” 

Looking at that still anxious face, his annoyance starts to grow. Still, he tells himself to be calm. He cannot afford to alienate this brother of his. He does not have more. “What are our house words?”

Renly startles, but, blessedly answers the question dutifully. “Ours is the fury.”

“Where does it say that our fury cannot form between ourselves?” 

Seeing the confused look, he goes on, “We fought about things long before you were even born, Renly. This is just how we are. Pay it no mind.” 

When he sees Renly going to argue, sternly, he adds, “You have more urgent matters to think of, such as not having yet completing your preparations to leave.” 

For a moment he thought Renly would roll his eyes at him again. Instead, looking bewilderingly hesitant, Renly asks, “Will I like it there?”

“Ro-” He stops and takes a breath. He does not want to discuss Robert. “I have never been to the Eyrie. You like Lord Arryn, do you not?” 

“Yes…” 

“You have misgivings?” There was nothing he could do if Renly had any. He certainly has no say in the matter now, if he ever did. Robert gets to decide. His brother made the point very clear. The Targaryen prince’s presence aside, Robert would not forsake a promise made to Lord Arryn. 

“Robert said he loved it there, but-” Renly breaks off. He looks a cross between guilty and fearful.

He fights a frown. Was Renly afraid of his reaction to hearing Robert’s name? He sighs. 

Caught up with this mess with Robert and that damned wedding, he has not spent too much time with Renly, who turned out to be more astute than he imagined. 

Thankfully, Renly finds his words again. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” No matter how much Renly could try to mask it, he heard the plea. 

Still, it was surprising. “You wish it?”

“If you like”, said in a voice that told him enough. 

He nods. He would write, at least until Renly starts returning his letters with all too brief and empty platitudes like Robert had done. 

He sighs at his own foolishness. He will think of such things when they do occur. 

Looking at his brother, he thinks perhaps he ought to give Renly something before they leave.

He frowns when the answer does not come to him. Renly was too old for toys, too young for weapons, and did not care much for books. He might like a pet to take with him. 

He starts to think perhaps a hawk. They were useful birds and hawking was appropriate past-times for a boy Renly’s age to engage in. He remembers enjoying his efforts with Proudwing…until Robert’s barb.

No, not an animal. Robert’s wedding proved such a thing would be a mistake.

He takes a breath. He will have to think on it some more, but, he cannot think here. Coming back for this damned wedding had been a mistake. He shakes his head. Coming back to Storm’s End at all had been _the_ mistake. At least, it was one he will not have to make again.

He gets up and gestures for Renly to do the same.

“Let us go, then.”

Patchface sings, “Storms brew but do they pass or do we pass them…”

* * *

“You gave Renly that broach.” 

Of all the things for Robert to notice, it would have to be the pin in the shape of a stag Renly tied his cloak with.

He was surprised Robert bothered seeing him off, let alone speaking to him.

When he saw Robert come down he decided he wanted to keep this brief. Of course, Robert would be contrary about this as well. 

“I did.”

“Why?”

Even with most everyone, including Lord Arryn and Renly, gone, Uncle Eldon, Uncle Lomas, Maester Cresson, the Steward, were watching them say their farewells. At least, the Starks had the sense not to be here.

He does not want to discuss this with Robert. Tone clipped, he states, “He should have something of Father’s.” 

“He has enough of Father’s things.” The words and the look Robert give him say too much. 

“He has fewer things than we do. I have no use for it.” The bauble was too easy to part with and Renly had smiled at him when he presented it.

The pleasure he took from the memory dwindled seeing his older brother. Even with the gray tinge to his face, Robert looks mulish. He knows exactly what his brother is going to say. “Father gave that to you before-”

He cuts Robert off. “The day before he and Mother left for Essos. _I know_.” He would remember getting it, would he not?

“You wore it for weeks.” He looks away. He will not deny it. However, Robert does not seem to remember he has not looked at it for years. Robert should have known that. 

He tries to keep the irritation, among the other emotions, out of his voice. “You remember when he gave it to me. Do you remember what Father said when he did?”

Robert frowns. Perhaps Robert would remember; perhaps not. To get this done, he recites, “‘Be good for your Uncle Herbert, for Maester Cressen, and Robert.’ You think I haven’t been good to you. Why should I keep it when we barely act like brothers ought to?”

Robert flushes. Anger. Then, his brother swallows, seeming as tired as he feels. “You do not have to give Renly your things because we fought.” Arguing is all they seem capable any more. 

_“It is done, Robert.”_

Seeing Robert getting ready to argue, he holds up a hand, “Let him enjoy it. I cannot.” 

He tenses when Robert opens his mouth. “We are not good at being brothers to each other, are we?” 

Having Robert acknowledge it was surprising. It was almost a relief his brother finally had.

He nods. “We have not been for a long time.” It was not always that way. Ever since Robert first left for the Eyrie things changed between them.

Nothing has been easy between them since they had been children. Now, as with everything else the silence between them is equally uneasy. By the look on his face, Robert thinks the same. 

He does not need to look at the nervous group of men behind Robert to want to offer, “I think it well past time for me to go.”

He almost wants to take the words back at Robert’s dismayed expression, but, his brother grumbles out, “I did not mean what I said.”

It was not the apology he knew better to expect. “We said many things to each other.” 

“Stannis…” 

Because it was annoyance rather than anger, he unbends enough to ask, “What did you mean?”

“Do you hate King’s Landing that much?” 

He must look quite the fool, with his mouth gaping as it was. “What does that matter?” 

“And yet you want to go?”

Part of him wants to think the question his brother refrains from asking was ‘Is being here that difficult for you?’ Another part tells him not to be foolish. 

“Yes.”

Robert squints at him. “You fought me when we first discussed it.” 

“I did not argue with you about going.” Robert’s insistence on marrying Lyanna Stark made it easier to want to go.

“And you cannot wait to leave now.” Despite Robert’s narrowed eyes, there was an absence of anger; only recognition his punishment is not much of one. 

Much as it galls him, Lyanna Stark was his good-sister and this week alone proved he and Robert cannot go one conversation without coming to some sort of argument. Why would he not want to leave, even when it means going where he is mistrusted if he could be spared that?

He shakes his head. “It is clear I cannot stay.”

Robert frowns. “You are sure?” 

Little remains here that is untainted. “This is no longer my place, Robert.” Recent events only solidified how much this was not. 

Nothing is said between them for some time, until, “Always truthful, eh, Stannis?”

He presses his lips together. At least, this time it was not an accusation, or not entirely one. Once again, he answers, “I am not a liar.”

Robert laughs, though it is unlike the usual jovial ones. There was no relief in him knowing there was no cruelty in it either. “So you have said time and time again.” 

With no more he has to say he nods his head and turns to leave only, Robert grabs his arm. 

Surprised, he rumbles, “What?”

Looking almost embarrassed, Robert holds his hands up as if burned. “Will you return if I call you?”

His eyes widen in shock. “You desire it?”

As if already regretting the question, Robert crosses his arms across his chest. “Answer the question, Stannis.” No, there was no desire to see him, but, obligation and duty and knowledge that if they are not communicative it would make matters worse.

Still, he cannot deny his brother this. He takes a breath and relents, stiffly. “If you have need of me.” 

Stannis had not expected a smile or a look of relief and received neither. “You will write.” 

It was almost a question. Before he could answer, Robert adds, “I want to know what goes on in King’s Landing.”

It was not ‘I want you to write me’. Even before their many arguments, it was not going to be. However, there was only one answer Stannis could give him. “Of course.”

Robert lets out a sigh. “I’ve kept you longer than you wanted.”

He had not wanted to come back at all and Robert wants no-one here any less.

With nothing else that needed to be said, once more, Stannis turns to leave. This time, Robert does not stop him. 

When on the ship he can hear Uncle Lomas chattering away about missing the Stormlands already. Once again he is struck by how different he is from most. 

He does not even have the urge to look back. Then again, what was there for him to look back towards but a Keep which had been prison of his mind and body and a man whose affections he had been foolish to try and continue to claim for far too long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n #2: That this chapter goes up in the middle of the season often characterized as being peppered by family get-togethers is not lost on this authoress but is a coincidence none-the-less. That said, Happy Holidays everyone.


	14. Rhaella

The knock on the door disturbs Rhaella’s concentration. Willem Darry enters and coughs nervously. “Your guest is here.”

Despite herself, she straightens at his hesitant and mistrustful tone. 

Wearily, she settles back, her gaze momentarily goes back to the fire doing nothing to warm her. What does it matter if she should be hesitant or mistrustful? Her guest was here and she was ill-prepared for this visit.

Outside the wind is howling. Her sensations heightened, hearing the footsteps drawing near, she stiffens further. 

When she sees her guest, her breath catches. 

_Steff’s eyes._

She shivers. It has been so long since she felt true warmth and those eyes chill her more than the cold and darkness of Dragonstone ever could because her cousin’s eyes do not contain half the warmth Steff’s used to have in abundance. 

She almost weeps. Will she ever be free from crushing waves of sadness each time she thinks of all the family she once had?

Once she knew what it was to hope for sons being like their fathers. On this night, those eyes tell her not to hold onto foolish sentiments though she learned long ago such thoughts were dangerous.

She lets out a shaky breath before nodding to Ser Willem who leaves her alone with the man she had not expected to see.

“Lord Stannis, I would get up to receive you, however…” She points to her slightly protruding stomach. 

He frowns and quickly glances away. When he looks back at her after his overlong examination of their surroundings, all he says is, “Your Grace, quite right.”

She almost smiles, only its path stops half way before it crumbles. This was the first time she wanted to smile since Viserys left and her cousin’s son was avoiding looking at her. 

No matter, she decides. He will have to look at her soon enough. Once one gets past the bright colors, and fluffed cushions and pillows on upholstered furniture Elia added to what used to be her sitting room, Dragonstone was a stronghold, not a comfortable Keep for family of its prince. 

Still, it will serve adequately for whatever this man with his blue-eyed gaze was here for. 

“Are you well?” 

The abrupt and stiff way he asks makes her think he is not accustomed to asking such things. It also makes her think he lacks the easy manner Steff had. It is a miserable thought knowing Steff’s charm was such that at the beginning Aerys used to-

Despite herself her best attempts her face twists. No! Not now! She cannot think that now.

Hoping her eyes do little more than itch with unshed tears, she takes another breath. “Well enough, I suppose. The wait is rather dull. It is nothing to fret over. Please sit, Lord Stannis.”

When he does, she notes his back is so erect she thinks he might break if he turns a particular way. Trying for another smile, she continues, “You have given me quite the surprise. I was not expecting any visitors.”

For a moment he looks embarrassed. “I did not mean to intrude, yet, I thought it necessary before I return to King’s Landing.”

His words worry her. Everything about this worries her. Why was he here? Was all well-No. These past years, very little went right.

Instead of asking that, she replies, “I thought as much. The banners you arrived under in so late an hour are unfamiliar to me. I could not think of a reason for it.”

He frowns more deeply. She does not know him at all and it pains her that one so young is capable of frowning so much. Then again, how many hours, days, weeks, months, and years has she spent frowning if not withdrawing completely?

“I needed to see you and I was unsure how I would be received”, he says in a way neither apology nor appeasement. Though she tried not to let it, his manner irritates her. It was not because his words or not entirely. Steff would have never been so formal. 

If Steffon had been with them perhaps this one might have been different. Her irritation is pushed back by another wave of misery in thinking so much would have been different. 

This time fury ignites within her; at herself. Steff _wasn’t_ here. “Rest assured, young lord, though not many come to see me, I would welcome just about any member of my grandson’s council.” 

Truthful as her words might be, she doubts members of the Small Council would desire seeing her. If no one of consequence sought her out at King’s Landing, surely no one was going to come to Dragonstone to do it. No one came to Dragonstone at all; not because they chose to. She had not.

“I am not just anyone.” 

Again that grimace. To try and soften it, she would have said something about being welcoming to any of her cousin’s children, only she will not lie. She wants Robert nowhere near her. She doubts she ever will.

Feeling the energy in her slip away, she swallows thickly. She knew why Robert hated her son and she knew the feeling of being disappointed with Rhaegar. None of that matters when the wound which may never heal was so very fresh. 

The one thing that prevents her from lashing out at all was what Elia said in her letters. If Stannis was not Steffon, he was not Robert. Wearily, she thinks it a sad state of affairs for better than nothing to serve as enough. Yet, what other choice was there?

Deciding not to travel on that miserable thought again, she voices another question she has. “Is that supposed to explain why you arrived in a smuggler’s ship?” 

While it was true the royal fleet was very much in the rebuilding phase, he had not come from King’s Landing. He could have taken a Baratheon ship. While there would be a great, a _greater_ , deal of discomfort for her, she doubts her discomfort would be a concern. 

“A ship is a ship.” He colors slightly, but, his words are firm. Somehow she finds it appropriate they would be. 

“Why not fly under your own colors?” 

“I require discretion.”

The surprised laughter dies in her throat as quickly as it threatened to bubble up.

What was so urgent he could not give her ample warning? Why was it he chooses to arrive here like this and at such a late hour so soon after his brother’s wedding? What does he want from her? What more does she have to give? What more can she give him?

She gave most of her children to the Stranger. She gave Aerys to his madness. She gave Viserys to Arryn. She gave Elia faulty advice. She will give this last child to the Tullys. She did not have much of anything else to give anyone, let alone Stannis Baratheon, even if she wanted to.

Trying not to dissolve into hysterics, she tells herself to keep her tone soft, lest his obstinacy become worse. “Naturally, but, please indulge this old woman’s curiosity, won’t you?”

He grimaces. “I know a smuggler whose ship was available.”

Surprised again, her eyes widen. “He simply let you aboard?”

“I knighted him.” 

Once again, she thinks this one is nothing like Steff. He was nothing like Cassana either. She thought Elia was being evasive when she wrote about this one being indescribable. Now she sees it is the perfect word. He is like no one she knew save Varys and that was because the other man tries to be mysterious.

Despite the years of practice, she did not mask the surprise from her voice. “You knighted a smuggler?”

He frowns again. “I took his fingers first.”

She could only blink. No one would have ever said something like that to her. No. That was not correct: Aerys used to be this direct, but, the man in front of her does not seem to have succumbed to the taint which enough of their blood was cursed with. “For what?”

‘Smuggling’, he says. Once again she is struck by how unique this son of Steffon turned out to be.

She finds herself admitting, “I should like to meet this smuggler knight of yours. He sounds like quite a man.”

At his startled expression she chastises herself again, wondering why she is procrastinating. “However, we can discuss that later. You said you needed to see me.”

He nods severely. “Yes, I did.”

This was all too strange, but, she had not lied when she said time passes so slowly here. Without Viserys, Elia’s letters and only her sparse number of companions she has little to occupy save thoughts which do her no good. Besides, she was curious; whatever it was that got this one here in this way had to be extraordinary.

On the heels of her thought, he pulls a stack of letters from within his cloak. _Letters?_

“I have some questions.”

Meeting his eyes, she probes, “What can I possibly know about those?”

He pushes the stack towards her. Seeing the familiar script on the topmost one her heart nearly seizes. 

Somehow she manages to choke out, “These letters are not mine; nor were they meant for my eyes.”

She is unable to say more because her throat tightens. Why had he brought them here?

He pushes them closer to her. She does not take them. She does not want to touch them, let alone read them or to remember…

She closes her eyes and exhales slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she could only answer: “The one who wrote them is also dead.”

He insists, “You know both men.”

Wetness gathers in her eyes. She herself time to blink the tears back. “I _knew_ both men. What does that matter now?” What does any of it matter now? 

His jaw tightens before saying, “I have a questions few others can answer.”

Was she to believe herself fortunate for being among the few? Knowing those men does little to explain anything. What answers can she give Stannis Baratheon? Will he even listen to what she has to say? “Have you read them, my lord?”

“I have.” He looks embarrassed now, as if he was a child caught doing something he shouldn’t be. 

An uncharacteristic, savage thought of how he should be embarrassed comes to her. He should not have read those letters or brought them here. 

An ache builds in her chest as she tries to breathe. There is little she can change, be it the fate of the man who wrote those letters or that the recipient’s son came here with a pack them.

She was truthful in saying she did not know the contents of the letters. She has no desire to know. What can she possibly say about them when she does not quite understand it all herself? She does not know what she can and should admit to at all, but, she doubts he will leave her be. “What did you make of the letters’ contents?” 

“They are disturbing.” 

She nods sharply. These letters were made in better times. She knew the men at the center of these letters at their best, he did not. Of course, he would find them disturbing.

When he says nothing more, she frowns. With more than mere curiosity, she asks, “How did you find the man who wrote the letters?”

Another silence descends around them. Elia said this was a man who did not mince words. Why does he refrain with her now? Had he not brought fourth all these memories and thoughts best left in the past she might have thought him quaint. Only, he did bring these letters to her and so she does not mistake him for such.

Because he remains mute, she prompts, “What do you think of the author’s words?”

He grimaces. How many times will she see this expression? She wagers too many times to continue to count. Eventually, he admits, “They are troubling.”

In his keeping silent he reminds her of how stubborn Viserys could be. She cuts that thought off immediately. Stannis Baratheon was not one of her sons. Her breath catches again. _Son; not sons_. Currently, she only has the one and he was gone too.

She slides a hand against her belly again. Even if this child will be a son, she already promised it to another.

Forcing herself to glance at son of her cousin’s again, she wonders why he bothers being prudent if it unnerves him so. She finds herself snapping out, “Just ‘troubling’?” 

Her patience wanes further when she is met with more silence. “You brought these letters here. Go on, tell me what you think of the man who wrote the letters.” While she is rarely offered another’s opinions, she knows what most men think. She is curious to see what this one will say. 

He presses his lips together. “I know of who the man became. I do not know the man who wrote the letters. That is why I am here.”

Even if she wished it, she cannot help him with this and she does not wish to. All the same, she inclines her head to acknowledge his point. “How did you find that man you knew?”

His lips pinch together. Then, “Angry, suspicious, hateful.”

She does not cry, frown, or even blink. She knew, far better than most, Aerys could be all that and more. 

Aerys’ variable moods must confuse the young lord so when she herself spent many days and nights being confused and alarmed by their depths. Sitting here now, thinking of him there was only regret and sorrow. 

“Is the man in these letters you brought me the same?” 

“No.” This time there was pure reluctance torn from that throat. 

While he makes an admission, it was the hesitant look on the young lord’s face which makes her snap out, “Go on and say it: ‘mad’. Aerys was mad and that man is not the man in those letters. You think it and it was true. Please just say it and be done with it.” 

Aerys in his later years, the Mad King, King Scab, was not all there was of him, but, that is what most knew. That is where the problem lay, isn’t it?

He almost looks shocked she would acknowledge his truths. “Your Grace?”

She finds herself sneering, “Did you think me ignorant of what my brother was?” 

Incredulity fills his features. “He was your husband.” 

How dare he? Who was he to sound frustrated because he fails to get a dutiful answer? Was this why he brought those letters here?

Perhaps he expects her to be loyal because, after all, she had been that. She still loves Aerys. It does not mean she can be unaware of Aerys’ madness or unfamiliar with what it was to hate him.

She laughs. “Yes, he was that and before it he was my brother.” Brother. Husband. Either and both. To her it makes no difference. In her mind one bleeds into the other no matter how much she tries to prevent it from doing so.

They had been close as children and she loved him then though not as much as she could have. That did not mean after the demand made by Grandfather the warmth between them hadn’t dwindled steadily and assuredly long before the end.

As if by accident her hand brushes against her protruding belly again. 

Rhaegar had been a hope borne from the ashes of Summerhall. Aerys had been happy he had a son then; a legacy from which to rebuild. When Rhaegar died, she could not understand if Aerys had been more jubilant or angry at the news. Even now she remains undecided. 

Viserys had been a bright spot in between her many failures and Aerys’ accusations and even his birth Aerys raged at because he was born too late and wrong because he was a child she could not marry to their eldest. And now there was this one.

Having a child should make a person happy and she cannot be that; not quite and she hates herself for it. She remembers Aerys forcing himself upon her the last time and the time before. She remembers too well the sight of his wild eyes and the sensations of his talons on her skin. There was no happiness in knowing how this one came about or remembering the ones who came and went before in better times.

Now she can only sigh. Daeron said too many Targaryens could be just as dangerous as too few. There is no longer a need to pose the question. Once her child is born, she would be seven times a mother and only two might live to see their own children grow. None of her grandchildren will be purely Targaryen. Of her line mayhap only Aegon and Viserys will bear her name when Stranger comes for her.

She lived all that she lived and here she was, sitting in the midst of this dank keep, surrounded by the vestiges of Elia’s attempt at making this place a home without the only child she truly could call her own and memories of a family long since tattered. 

Because of it she finds no shame in adding, “I know what he was, better than most, better than Steffon, too.”

His face turns mulish. He insists, “Father loved him and was loyal to him.”

Is this young Baratheon here to hear of stories of a father long since dead? She cannot give him that any more than she could of an Aerys only she remembers. “Yes, Steff loved him and was very loyal. I loved your father for it. Aerys loved him for it. Perhaps you saw that in the letters you brought here. While I could sing all the praises of the Aerys you do not know, I would be remiss in my duties by keeping from you how Steffon worried for Aerys. Of course, I should not have to tell you your father died before he could truly learn to fear his cousin.” 

Predictably enraged, he bolts upright; his face flushed, twisted into a scowl. “You do not mourn the King. You were his queen.”

Even now she can hear Aerys rant about how ‘Steffon and that wife of his failed him’. Though she will not tell him, she wonders how Steff’s son would react to knowing their deaths were barely an afterthought to Aerys.

Holding her stomach, and taking a breath, she says, “How much would you have me mourn, young lord? I mourned more of my children than I care to count. I mourned Steffon and Joanna. Despite what you may think, I mourned Aerys. Each day I am awake I mourn the boy I grew up with; the man I married; the king I was queen to; and the man he failed to be. Do not believe me or hate me all you wish for not mourning in a way you desire, just know I spent years mourning the man I knew and loved. I mourn Aerys. While I am all you say, and because I am all you say, young lord, I spent years mourning. I simply am tired of doing it.”

Before he can interject, squaring her shoulders, she points to those letters, “It warms this old woman that you wish to know Aerys as your father once did. While this attempt speaks highly of you, young lord, it grieves me greatly I must also tell you it is an unnecessary endeavor. No matter how much you or I wish the man in these letters existed until he breathed his last, he did not.” 

She shakes her head, even as her heart twists. Aloud, she continues, “I wish everyone knew of the man in those letters and perhaps love him as your father did and I do; it is not to be. What once was full of promise only exists in the memory of a woman who lived long enough to see the promise crumble. If you would listen to me, listen when I say clinging to it is no way to live.” 

For a moment she did not know which one she was saying this to, Baratheon, her future child, or herself. Perhaps she was speaking to all of them, but, it was the young lord who needed to hear this. Forcing herself to gaze into her cousin’s eyes, she points to the letters again. “Before he left the realms of men, there was nothing left of the Aerys you seek to learn about.”

How damned was she that she knew a man at his best and lived to see him fall? Perhaps more because she let him fall. 

Seeing him attempt mounting a protest forces her to hold up a hand. “I was sister, wife, and queen and now I am widow to Aerys Targaryen. I hated him and I loved him and everything in between. You came to me, who knew the best and knew the worst of him, and I feel no shame in telling you to let him go. You might think me unfeeling, young cousin, but, I swear it: if you keep grasping for the past, it will destroy you. I do not want this for myself or anyone else.”

Despite telling herself not to give in, as always when thinking of Aerys, she ends with a sob.

Rhaegar is gone. Her Aerys is gone. Most everything she loved is gone; but, not everything. Even before she learned of Aerys’ death, she resolved herself to focus on what else remained. 

Perhaps one day she might accomplish it.

“So that is to be the end of it? What would you have me do; ignore what I read?”

She expected he would be angry. Instead, he almost looks lost. She does not know which one she would rather have. Seeing those eyes though…

Steff’s boy might have come here hoping to glean wisdom of a different sort from her, but, this is all she can offer. 

She takes another deep breath. It is cruel enough to tell him to lose Aerys has he lost Steffon, but, she needs it done. For all that the questions are apt, they fill her with pain and despair she tries to steel herself against day after day. She can barely stand it.

If she must move forward, she will not stand for someone wallowing in the muck of what cannot be. It does no one good; it has done her no good. 

"I expect you to get on with things. Young lord, I do not I wish you to be like the Kingsguard who are still loyal to my dead husband and son.”

That takes him by surprise. “What do you mean? I am nothing like the Kingsguard.”

She knows she should not, but, she prods him all the same. “Mere moments ago you disliked my ‘unwillingness to mourn-” 

He glances angrily at her. “What does my dislike matter?”

“In truth, young cousin-” She ignores his flinch, “It is not dislike which concerns me.”

He sneers, “Then, what does? Your enjoyment? What do you mean?”

She knows a question to incite a reaction when she sees it and so the only one she will allow herself is the sad smile which mirrors the despair in her heart. “What I enjoy is of little consequence to anyone, however, I do not enjoy knowing you wish to mourn and would rather I mourn any more than I would enjoy knowing the Kingsguard would like it if Elia still does.”

Clearly frustrated, he demands, “Tell me plainly what you mean and what does she have to do with anything?”

Though she wonders why she even bothers, she knows she will answer him because it was easier than speaking of Aerys. “I am nothing like Elia; not in looks or manner. While it is nothing for me to mourn my husband, in truth, I would find her still being in mourning for my son something to be pitied. That you insistently hold on to Aerys as the Kingsguard do my husband and son is equally so.”

Those eyes are blazing with heat now. _Ours is the Fury indeed_! “Why do you find being in mourning something to pity? Because you do not wish to be in mourning yourself?”

His lips are now pressed tight and his face heats with she thinks is an attempt to say nothing more. Where sorrow once was, in her now, there burns an unfamiliar anger. “Do you ask this any anyone else who suffered losses? You only met me today, young lord. By what estimation can you hold me to a higher standard when another’s lack of mourning would barely stir you? What have I done to beget your scorn that you show no compassion? Haven’t I impressed upon you by now how deeply I mourn? By what right do you judge me false?”

He remains speechless. Despite knowing better, she laughs. “Why is my lack of mourning of such a great interest when Aerys wanted your brother, his cousin’s son dead? If given the opportunity do you think he would have stopped with Robert? If you want to discuss anything why do you not discuss that?”

Oh, she knew she should not goad him thus, but, Gods, Steff was never so irritating and single-minded. Should not youth seek to correct the mistakes of the past, not embroil themselves in making the same mistakes? 

She is almost relieved at how quickly his eyes narrow into slits, “I know what he was and what he had done. I am not here to discuss that.”

She takes another breath. Calm yourself, she thinks. Added stress is the last thing she or this child needs. She reminds herself everyone judges her lacking. What difference will another make? “Then, why are you here? Was Elia’s apology for what you and yours suffered not enough? Or is it mine you truly want, after all, I am the Targaryen left that you could get one from. Is that it?”

The cold in those eyes is more frigid than Dragonstone’s air. It almost makes her flinch back, but, she was quite done with flinching even if he did seem to breathe fire like a dragon. “I do not want your apologies and the only thing I want you are unwilling or unable to provide.”

While perhaps it should bother it that a man thinks thus, in truth, it does not. His gall rankles more than any opinion he might have had. Still, she tells herself to stifle her irritation if only because those damnable familiar eyes of his. Oh, it was very difficult. “Perhaps not, but, what would you have me do: sacrifice the living for the dead? I cannot and you should not desire that I do.”

“Why do you persist in ignoring the better times?”

His question and his plea makes her feel so tired. She of all people knew it proves difficult, but, damn it all, how difficult was it to let a cruel specter go? “I not ignoring them. Young lord, I simply cannot live clinging to them. I wish I could help you, young cousin, but, what good is my remembering going to do when everything is tainted? Can’t you see that?” 

“You are willing to forget?”

Each time she gets close to doing it, she finds herself unable. She cannot forget even if she wanted to, but, what would possibly make him understand? “Yes. Yes, and you should be willing to do the same.” Somehow she got the words out despite feeling herself shaking from the heat of her own body. She does not know which tears at her most; there being a part of her willing to do it or that there is a part of her which is unwilling. Why would she want that for anyone else?

For a moment his face crumbles before hardening to a degree she never thought possible. “You are no good to me at all, then.”

She was who she was: a failure of a wife and a mother unable to save her son. She hates herself for it and the Gods will likely curse her for it, but, damn it all, if it could give her one moment of peace she would gladly forget it all.

She does not know how she does it, but, she pulls her lips into a thin smile. “You just might be correct young lord.” 

His expression turns mulish. “What would you have me do?” 

Move on. If he learns to go forward, then, perhaps there might be some hope of her accomplishing it. If she could claim any desire it was that if not today, then tomorrow, she might be able to move on beyond merely coping with her losses or come to grips with how she should have steeled herself to them long ago. 

“First, learn to let him go or at least show me a willingness to try. Then, Lord Stannis, you can tell me how my son fared when Lord Royce started to escort him from King’s Landing.”

He frowns at the change in subject. Let him frown. She will cry for Aerys and Rhaegar as she used to cry because of them. But, this she needs to know. She needs to know how Viserys fares. Does it hurt him to be away from her like it does her to be away from him? She needs to know how Elia is coping with it all and whether or not the children are happy once again. Are they safe without her? Is she even missed?

She holds her breath. The family she has left; the family she will be allowed to have, is what ought to matter now. They should have mattered long before she came to believe Aerys shouldn’t and so she hopes Steff’s son gives her an answer even when she prepares herself to receive more of his heated miens. 

As if by her thought, he glares. “Your son?”

To stop herself from saying else she regrets, she clarifies, “Yes, my son, Viserys. I should like to know if he was, if not happy, at the least content leaving King’s Landing with Lord Royce.”

Though she should not allow herself to be so weak, she almost wilts in relief when he clenches his jaw only to ask ‘How is it you know it was not Lord Arryn?’ after a lengthy silence.

She takes another calming breath. “Elia wrote me Lord Royce was entrusted with the responsibility. Was it not true?”

Anger still plain in his voice, he stiffly replies, “You are correctly informed.” 

Something in his face forces her to ask, “You are surprised.”

For a moment she thinks she should not have bothered, then, he starts, “I wondered-” He cuts himself off, once again looking angry. This time she thinks his ire was not directed at her or at least she hopes it was not.

“Go on”, she implores, knowing she does so more for her sake than his.

“She keeps you appraised.” Now annoyed for reasons she would rather not think about, she wonders if that was a statement or a question.

Whatever it was, she agrees, “Elia is dutiful in that way.”

She nearly flinches. Gods why had she said that? She should know better; she did know better. Predictably, he pounces, “Why only ‘in that way’? Why is it you not expect her to be loyal in every way?”

She does not react to the obvious jab. In remembering another long ago incident, she barely heard it. 

_“I think should like to see daughter and my granddaughter soon. There is a great comfort in being around one’s own when they seek to take joy in you and I wish to experience it before the Mother takes me into her arms. Will you not make arrangements on behalf of your old friend?”_

“I have been a princess all my life and a queen for much of it. I saw the necessity of each of the arrangements she was contemplating them. I gave her my blessings to do her duty as she saw fit.”

“But, you did not desire-”

Sighing deeply, she insists, “My desires have naught to do with anything.”

What does Elia owe her? When she took Nymeria’s daughter as a good-daughter she promised she would ensure Elia would be treated well and that she would love her as if she was her own daughter. She was the one who warned Elia not to react when Aerys sneered at Rhaenys. She was the one who urged the girl to forgive Rhaegar. When she only managed to make things worse, it was a wonder still Elia asked her anything at all. Even that might change soon.

“You will let things stand.” 

He sounds alarmed. Had things been different it might have amused her how little what he feels matters to her. Then again, perhaps it might have disturbed her. Whatever she might have felt, it came to her as no surprise Elia’s letters bled with a need to appease the rebel lords. 

The moment that Stark boy and the rest of them came to King’s Landing she feared it was only a matter of time grasping hands would take and take. Now, if it meant her family’s future was to be secured, may the Gods help her assist the family she had left in ways she failed to help Aerys and Rhaegar. 

“When I birth this child I might return to King’s Landing and Elia might try and ask me to become regent in her stead. I will refuse. As such, yes.”

“You would refuse?” What was so astonishing he needed to voice the same question twice?

She places a hand over her belly once more. “I will raise this child and offer council should Elia and, later, Aegon, ask it of me. Outside of that, I will claim a simple life for myself. My involvement would muddy things when there are too many minds with their own motives about.” 

She means it. King’s Landing was a mess of disparate nerves in the best of times and these were strange times she lived in. By what right did she allow herself to meddle now?

His brows fly towards his hair. “Why only if asked? Is it not your duty to be more involved?” 

Despite herself, she smiles ruefully. “While I might have not found letters unlike you young lord, I do receive them.”

His brows knit together. “What of it?” 

“The Lord Commander writes to me.”

Perhaps unintentionally, he leans forward. The sternness in his face, however, is entirely intentional. Though he is very much suspicious, eventually, she can see when his curiosity wins out. “Regarding?”

While she does not know if she should be so indiscreet, she finds herself desiring another’s opinion. Everyone else about her would not offer much save what they think she might want to hear. He offers plenty she does not desire already.

“He wrote to me of certain concerns he had.”

He is annoyed at her response and suspicious. “What concerns?”

Where to begin? “For example, he demonstrated a concern regarding how Elia makes it a point to visit the nursery with regularity.”

His annoyance grows deeper. “Do her children no longer reside there that she would not go?” 

His face twists into anger again so quickly she barely manages to stop herself from shifting back in time. 

Now hesitant, she wets her lips to give herself time to think of an appropriate response. “I suppose the concern can come from knowing there other child who resides there who is not hers.”

Now, he looks as though he smells something foul. Perhaps she made another mistake in saying anything at all. She inwardly sighs: there was nothing she could do if the turn of this conversation grows sourer. 

“What is there to be concerned about now? She’s been going since the-” He stops, the scowl on his face becomes more prominent and he makes no attempt masking the anger in his voice, “child was born.” 

With a calm she does not feel, she ventures, “I was unaware you knew her movements.”

His scowl deepens into a hard glare again. “I do not need to know her movements. I know having the” The scowl deepens further, “boy there was her idea.”

For reasons she knows better than to think too much on she finds herself asking, “Her nonchalance would not concern you in the Lord Commander’s position?”

Rather than answer her, he counters with, “Did you not a moment ago say that you wished me to be unlike the Lord Commander? As it is, I fail to see why a person going anywhere within their own home be a concern for him. It is not for me.”

Had this one not spoke of a desire to know her Aerys she thinks she might warn Ser Gerold his attentions are wasted thinking about the wrong individual.

“I believe he found her acceptance to be too easy. I think he fears the results of what a lack of emotions can bring.” 

Now repugnance joins his anger. “Fear? What is there to fear? Or is it common amongst the belligerently short-sighted to be as displeased with what one finds something agreeable just as easily as when there is something disagreeable in front of them?”

Giving into some of her curiosity, she questions, “‘Belligerently shortsighted’? I am afraid I do not understand your meaning.”

He squares his shoulders. “What else can I call it? The boy has been there for weeks. She obviously made peace with it. Why is that not good enough?”

Was this the same man who moments ago spent no shortage of time being disgusted by her “lack of mourning”? Were it worth the strife she might have pointed it out.

Instead she watches his anger sublimate into a calmer sort of disgust. She strongly suspects it not the Lord Commander who was responsible for the hissed growl in his voice. More importantly, she is thankful it was less likely because of her. Still, while she should make some attempt at control, she cannot stop the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside of her. 

Once again glowering at her, he snaps, “What is so comical?”

She knows not what comes over her because she finds herself blurting, “And still you cannot see how like the Lord Commander you are?”

His face twists into disdain once more. “I am nothing like him.”

She finds herself saying, “Something to hope for, then.”

It was true. She’s had enough of men who are so very loyal to ideals they lose sight of the important things. _Rhaegar_. Gods, her beautiful son. She let him fall into that trap. Sometimes she thinks it fortunate he got a Warhammer to the chest from an enemy of his own creation rather than the punishment from the father he loved. 

Thinking of her lost son makes her heart ache more than thinking of Aerys does. But, before she allows herself to sink into despair, though it is one more thing she hates herself for, she tells herself to think about the growing frustration in the young man before her. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

At another of his cantankerous stares, she explains, “Not only does the Lord Commander fail to see when a person has knowledge of themselves, he is slow to understand the need for adaptation.” 

When she sees he means to interrupt she goes on, “Elia would not have made such offers from the onset if she was not willing to follow through. In turn, it means Elia has adjusted to her circumstances. He does not know how to react to that.”

He narrows his eyes. “What of it?” 

She is thankful while she can hear the vestiges of anger in his tone, confusion is firmly at the forefront. Still, she knows he was not asking, but, rather telling her to answer.

Despite herself, her lips twitch. “Her lack of mourning.”

His face flushes in irritation. Oh, how interesting that it annoys him now. “What of it?”

The only reason she refrains from laughing because of her guest’s expression. “It bothers him.” She leaves the “Such things bother you” unsaid.

Once glancing in those blue eyes would have made her want to expel each and every doubt, now those eyes now belong to the brother of her son’s killer and a man who is angry at her for being unwilling to aid him in a way he thinks he needs. Still, this was a man of the council and Steff’s son and so she will give him something. “Did you know Elia’s mother and I were good friends?”

At his grimace she continues, “Nymeria knew how to rule in her own right while I-What did I teach Elia besides trying to not enrage her good-father and to meekly follow her husband? Even when her son is my grandson, I cannot expect her to listen to me when I am no longer her good-mother. I am at a loss as to why the Lord Commander seems to think I would have any influence even if I desired any.”

She was respected as a queen and tried to do her part well and still, when Aerys despaired of having her as a wife she responded by letting Aerys do as he liked no matter how he hurt her with few exceptions. When she had the opportunity to teach Rhaegar how infidelity hurts and that trying to enact a prophecy only lead to pain she did no such thing. She had her chances to do right with statecraft and her family and she squandered them time and time again. By the time she resolved to take a stand, it was already too late and Aerys sent her here. 

He is silent and unmoving for what seems an eternity. Then, Steff’s eyes narrow on his son’s face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She takes a breath. “The court would be unwelcoming of heavy Dornish influence in Daeron’s time. Elia knows this and her brothers know this as well. Considering the present alternatives, I know it is not the advantage Aerys once believed it to be.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but, she was not interested in expanding the implications of that historical lesson to the Stormlander. 

“What current alternatives?”

His question surprises him though it should not. Does he not know or do such things not matter to him unless they affect him? Likely. “Imagine what sort of attraction a young, lonely widow can provide to the unscrupulous. Of course, that does not take into account the dangers of having young children about without proper paternal influences.”

For a moment she thinks she might have seen awareness in the young lord’s face. In the next moment it gives into frustration. “Do you mean he fears how such things would affect her emotional state and after her, the children?”

She snorts in derision. Even if he might give some thought to the children, Gerold Hightower was never concerned with the emotional state of women, no matter who they were. But, it was not emotion the Lord Commander would fret about. “Monitoring Elia’s sensibilities or that of her children are not among the scope of the Kingsguard’s duties. The Kingsguard are right to worry, but, I fear his worry is focused on the wrong direction.”

He looks at her with unabashed suspicion. “In what way?”

This time she does not try to couch her meaning in softer words. “That loyalty to the dead may overshadow their responsibility to the living.”

There was the glare again, but, then he says something unexpected. “Ser Jaime’s behavior says otherwise.” 

She had braced herself for another rebuke, after all, he certainly has the expression for it, but, this? While her interest might have piqued she resolves to think on it later.

“Ser Jaime’s is of a different generation and has demonstrated willingness to entertain sensibilities not predominant in men of the Kingsguard. Of course, his sister is family. It stands to reason his attitude towards Elia and the children would not be the same as Ser Gerold.” 

Steff’s eyes narrow again. “What of it?”

She might as well get to the point. “No matter what the state of one’s marriage might have been, being a widow is not an enjoyable state. No songs ever sing of the great loneliness one feels especially when they do not know of the loneliness that widow faced as a wife and Elia-” She shuts her mouth with a snap. She has no great love for discussing the end of her son’s marriage any more than she has for discussing her own and in her foolishness she already admitted too much. When she continues again, it sounds lame to her ears. “The end to her official period of mourning draws nearer and what the Lord Commander fears is true, he suspects the vultures will circle quicker.”

Even if Ser Jaime did not have an ambitious man for a father and a comely, unwed uncle, Gerold Hightower is not Jaime Lannister. And Jaime Lannister’s winsome uncle was just among the first and conveniently placed. Others would eagerly follow swiftly enough to fill the void Rhaegar left and who in the Seven Kingdoms did not know he left it all too willingly? The Kingsguards’ mulishness could antagonize Elia _and_ factions at court whose members would otherwise be helpful.

“You do not like it.”

Knowing he does not refer to where she wants their conversation to go, for once she will gladly play the fool. “How could I like the prospect of anyone preying on my family?”

Steffon never looked at her the way his son does. “That was not what I was referring to.”

To stave her exasperation, she presses her lips together for a brief moment. “What were you referring to?”

“Your Grace, you speak aplenty of moving forward, yet, why is it you dislike the prospect as it relates to the Princess Regent?”

Of course it was Princess Regent, not Princess Dowager or “Your Good-daughter”. The titular differences, however, is not what aggravates her. Rather, it was the bald attempt at getting a rise out of her. 

“I do not dislike the prospect of her future happiness and you will never hear me suggest otherwise. I am speaking to you of Ser Gerold’s concerns because you are a man at court and as such should be mindful of things.” 

This time, she sees, she was the one doing the vexing because when Stannis speaks again he does it through gritted teeth. “Explain what you mean.”

She almost lets out an admonition to be more respectful, yet, she knows saying anything such as that that will only hamper things further and it is late enough.

Ignoring his glare, she plunges forward, “Being in a position of influence is a very lonely state. I fear he is worried for the wrong reasons.”

This glare was accusatory even if no words left his throat. Gods, it becomes more difficult to curb her tongue around him. There were moments when even the Aerys of old- _No! Stop it! He’s gone. Tell yourself again and again until you come to terms with it._ She takes a breath. “You clearly you have no compunction to hold your tongue. I know why council is made up as it is and none of those reasons involve trust. I fear what it means for her and for her children.”

At his look she thinks she made a mistake in saying what she had, after all, he was hardly chosen because Elia believed him to be trustful.

She was thankful all he let out was a growl before asking, “Are you saying her decisions might be compromised?”

She shakes her head. “Not the ones made in council. My son was unfaithful and infidelity leaves its own vulnerabilities others may exploit and I cannot trust my words would be heeded. In truth, I do not expect them to be; not in this regard.”

She does not even know if she should become more involved. If she could claim any of Elia’s affection, it would not do to take anything for granted. As faulty as her advice to Elia ultimately proved to be, she had no business attempting more now, be it to reassure the Lord Commander or herself. Whatever she will have now is a luxury; one she will indulge in for her own sake.

He sends her another suspicious and an intemperate glance. “What exactly would you like me to do about it? She is hardly going to take me into her confidence. No matter how she feels about your son or you, I am just the brother of the man who made her a widow. And I hope you do not mean for me to be a child minder. I am not equipped for and have a lack of desire to be one. Why are you telling me this at all?”

Why was she indeed? Was it not obvious? Viserys was still a child. Maester Aemon might as well no longer exist and despite herself she blames him in part for encouraging Rhaegar in certain ways. Elia’s brothers would have their own concerns. Appeal to Robert? Pah, she’d rather try and kill him with her weathered hands. Gods help her, there was no one left.

Thinking of all the empty possibilities she can barely breathe. “I-Do you think this is easy for me to be beholden to anyone? Do you think I want to be so uncertain? Can’t you see I have so little left to carve out a life for myself and those I love as few as they are?”

It hurts admitting it and it makes her want to weep when he only looks irritated. “What do you want from me?”

She turns away. “Haven’t I said it is a matter of need, not want? I need to ensure the family I have left will be safe from those who seek to do it harm and from those whose methods of keeping them safe will cause further damage. I do not need Rhaegar’s Kingsguard and I do not need Aerys’s Steff. I need someone unwilling to delude themselves in thinking blind loyalty is all there ever is.”

When she finishes, she finds herself looking at the young man before her. She might as well have been looking at the side of a mountain. “Your Grace, as I told the Princess Regent I will tell you I will do my duty to my king.” 

It was clear to her she was going to get nothing else from him. Then again, she knew she should hope for little else because, for her, hope was always such a fleeting thing. 

Obviously he took her silence to be the end of their meeting. As tired as she was, there was no room for relief in her, not when there was still one matter left between them. 

“Lord Stannis.”

Almost at the door, he sharply turns back to her, “Yes?”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

His confusion lasts for a long moment, then he looks down at the letters she has yet to touch. His expression makes her think he might as well be seeing them for the first time.

When he glances at her again, his mouth is set in a grim line. Then, he says, “No, I have not.”

“Are you certain?” Dreading his answer, her breath catches.

“They are no good to me, are they?”

Ruefully, she admits, “Probably not.”

He shakes his head. “Do whatever you like with them.” Why does his response not fill her with relief? 

She makes herself rise and take them into her hands before tosses the lot of them into the nearly dead fire.

At his enraged look, she forces herself to ask, “Did you want them, after all?”

Gazing into those furious eyes again, she sits back down. 

For what seems to be quite a while all she hears is the renewed crackles and hisses of the fire.

Then, as if drained of nearly all his strength, he shakes his head again and clears his throat. “It does not matter now, does it?”

Watching the letters burn she reaches up to pat at her eyes. To her surprise and growing relief there was nothing to dry. “Not for years.”

For a moment she thinks he might argue. He does not; he simply frowns again. “I will be going tomorrow.”

She nods. “That would be best.” 

That should have been the end of it, only it was not. “Yes?” What else was there to say?

This time his hesitation frightens rather than angers her. “It will be little trouble to make room for you.” 

When she can finally find the words to say she still questions what he meant. “You would take me to King’s Landing?” She must have misunderstood. There can be no other explanation, not with all they discussed.

She realizes she had not misunderstood his meaning when he pointedly adds, “I am going there. You do not have to fear I would take you anywhere else if that is your worry.” 

She was too stunned with the offer to think of the possibility of his returning to Storm’s End.

She finds herself admitting, “I am surprised you would be willing for me to accompany you.”

The look he sends her tells plainly of how company was not what he was after. 

All the same, he replies, “I doubt waiting longer would be feasible in your condition. I know you do not want to be here anymore than I do.”

Though she knew she should refuse outright, she hesitates because his words are fair and more than true enough. “How can you know I do not like it here or want to go to King’s Landing?”

Once more his expression reminds her of Viserys used to look at her when he believed she was being obtuse. “If you did, you would not have informed me of what went on in the capitol.”

She holds back a grimace. Had she been that transparent? Or, was it more of her damnable weakness shining through? “Surely that cannot be it?’ 

The only thing preventing her from reacting badly to his stern look was how much it reminded her of Steff again. “I doubt you will have another opportunity for some time if you refuse now.” 

Of course he was correct. The more time she spends here the less likely it is she will be able to brave the weather even for a short sojourn. Then, he carefully adds, “I think it more cumbersome to travel with a young child”. This was also true; no one will want to make it easier for her to travel for her own sake, let alone with a child and all that entails. Once was enough.

“You were leaving tomorrow. I need more time than that.” 

“A day. A day more should be enough I think.” 

That he sounds taxed at making any show of consideration, makes her question him again. “A day?” It is very tempting to be away from this place which was never truly hers and still she finds herself hesitating.

He looks incredulous. “Most of your things, I believe, are still in King’s Landing.”

Her frustration grows at the realization her rushed dismissal from the capitol must still be talked about. Oh, but, people talk and will continue to talk. “Why do you want me to go with you?” 

Predictably, incredulity moves towards irritation. “It is not about what I want.” 

“Of course not”, she thinks bitterly, as he parrots her own words back to her. Much rarely anything depend on wants.

This time he holds up a hand to forestall her speaking. “I leave it to you, Cousin, stay here where in your own words, ‘time passes so slowly’ or return to your home. It is your choice.” 

Despite her indignation, his offer almost makes her chuckle. Choices such as these are simply marvelous; stay here and rot or go where the changes worry her. Still, he called her cousin for the first time…

She finds herself asking, “What do you think I should do?”

Again he graces her with a grimace. “You told me to get on with things. No matter what you choose I am going to King’s Landing. Take your own advice. Make a choice and get on with it. I would have your answer tomorrow morning.”

With that and a too sharp bow, he silently shuts the door behind him without waiting for her answer. 

No matter, she thinks, as she glances once again at the still burning fire, she thinks he already knows what her answer will be.


	15. Elia

“She is beautiful, Mother.”

Rhaella looks up from staring at Daenerys to blink up at her. She gladly takes the seat Rhaella gestured towards when Rhaella does it with a smile. She feels more of the tension in her recede. It is a relief knowing those are the correct words to say. 

Rhaella was enchanted with her newest daughter. She could hardly fault for Rhaella taking pride in bearing beautiful children. Daenerys is a pretty child. The name, though, gives her pause. Why that name? What was Rhaella was trying to tell her by choosing it?

Or perhaps she was putting too much thought in this. Best not put too much stock into names. Rhaella could name her daughter whatever she wished. What did the name matter? There is enough to do without sinking into madness worrying over insignificant things. 

The pained look Rhaella gives almost makes her relent. _Almost_. For her to remain would not be right. She already insinuated herself in Rhaella’s affairs too much.

Gazing at her tiny good-sister, it reminds her of how small Rhaenys had been once. 

She chokes down the bile threatening to rise.

“So, you have said before, daughter.” Rhaella’s eyes crinkle as she laughs.

‘Daughter.’ When they were rarely kept together before the war, she never felt as though she earned Rhaella’s calling her that. She knows better now. She does not deserve it.

She pushes a question. “How are you?”

“Well enough. The same as yesterday.” Rhaella laughs. “You do not have to ask after me every time you come to see me.”

“I know.” And yet she cannot bring herself to stop. 

In the best of circumstances she could have never thought Rhaella would return on Stannis Baratheon’s arm. She welcomed Rhaella back with a warm smile and she received Rhaella’s kiss, but, the history of distinct pains and uncertainty hangs heavy between them.

She wants to know that Rhaella was as pleased as she could make her. By being who she was, she fails her good-mother enough.

_Dismissing her ladies, Rhaella shakes her head. “No.”_

_“What do you mean, Rhaella? I have yet to say anything.”_

_Rhaella turns away from her gowns to take her hand. “I know what you are thinking of doing. No.”_

_How could Rhaella know? Why would she refuse? “Why not? It should be you.”_

_Rhaella looks at her sadly. “Haven’t I done enough for the realm, child?”_

_That is not what she meant. “Of course, you have done-”_

_Rhaella grimaces. “Then, do not ask me to do any more.”_

_She looks away. “You are far more-”_

_“I am old and worn out. I am done.”_

_“Mother-”_

_“It is because you call me I tell you to not ask me. I cannot do this. I am unwilling. I had my chance and squandered it.”_

_Disturbed, she starts, “You did-“_

_Rhaella shakes her head. “I understand you do not want the responsibility. No one with sense should. Your son has the crown. It is your duty to rule in his stead. I also need it less. If nothing else, remember that. You owe it to your children."_

_“And you? What do I owe you?” What does Rhaella think she is owed?_

_Rhaella laughs hollowly. “That you do what you have been."_

Feeling the weight of the missive in her hand she wishes she could be. “No, I am not.” She proffers the letter. “This is for you.”

Rhaella’s face lights up as she puts Daenerys down as she extends an all too eager hand. “From Viserys?” 

She should be pleased Rhaella can still smile. Still too see Rhaella’s eager, open joy at something simple hurts her heart.

She turns quickly to flee the room. “You are going?”

Even if this was a simple letter, it is a reminder of her shortcomings. She only turns her face back. Politeness demands, at least, that. “I should take your leave now; let you read in peace.” She does not want to stay when she is the cause of this mess.

“Have you read what he wrote? Is it bad?” Rhaella’s brows draw together in confusion and concern 

She takes a breath. “I have not read it.” 

She does not read Rhaella’s missives. Rhaella never gave her leave to and she does not have the right. With Rhaella’s presence she is all too aware of the liberties she has already taken. Besides, if something was troubling she doubts a letter would be sent.

“Stay with me while I read it, then.”

Rhaella’s hopeful tone damns her. “I cannot.” 

“Is there some meeting?” Rhaella’s doubt is as clear as it is warranted. 

“No.” She tries for firm and does not manage it. Her desire is not in denying Rhaella the companionship she seeks, yet, she ought to. 

“Is someone expecting you?”

Something curdles in her.

Who would be expecting her? The children? Rhaenys skipped away from her at the Septa’s side and she had been at the nursery when the missive came to her. The Kingsguard had their duties and the men of the Small Council were appropriately distant when their presence was not required. Most of the ladies she took to associating with at court were busy with the arrangements for the fete tonight and even the elder matrons of court prove tiresome of late.

There is another who might…No, best not think of him in front of Rhaella. She almost grimaces. She ought not to think of _him_ at all. “No one waiting for me.”

Rhaella gives her a reproachful look. “Do you not want to know how Viserys fares?”

“It is enough that you know.” She can barely get the words out.

Admonishment turns to hurt confusion. “Why? Do you not want to know for yourself?”

She flinches. “Because I gave him away! Mother, I gave your children away! I know that already. What more do I have to know?” She gave all of their children away. 

As Rhaella grows ashen she starts to make her escape. A whipcord of a shout rings out, “Stay there.”

She takes another step. “Elia! Stop.” 

She can feel Rhaella at her back now. The weight of a thin hand wrapped around her shoulders is heavy. Not turning around, she sighs as she leans her head on the door.

“Elia.” Rhaella’s voice is softer this time and no less damning. 

She should not allow herself to be swayed by the tender pull of the light touch or the voice which is so much gentler than it ought to be. But, of course she does. Even when she knows better, she has done enough to Rhaella to start disobeying her now.

Seeing the same abundant solemnity which followed Rhaegar on Rhaella’s face she shrinks back against the door. “‘Gave him away?’ What is all this nonsense, Elia? You did not give anyone away.”

Were it not Rhaella before her she would have laughed herself sick. “I gave away your daughter before she was born. I allowed your boy to become a hostage. Of course I gave them away. Instead of hating me for it, you want me to sit with you. Why, Rhaella?” 

The fury on Rhaella’s face throws her. “I have already told you once to sit down.”

Daenerys cries. When Rhaella steps away to soothe the child, she lets out a shuddering breath and makes to leave again.

“You claim to have respect and affection for me.” Putting Daenerys down again, Rhaella’s tone brooks no discussion. It also holds no doubt. 

“I do.” And she has done everything to disprove it.

“If you have any of either for me, Elia, you will stay.” 

The desire to obey equals the desire to do the opposite. 

Because in some matters she had always been weak, Rhaella’s scowl turning into a broken look makes the choice for her.

Rhaella glances at a vacant chair, clearly expecting she takes it. Reluctantly she settles herself at the edge of it. Rather than please her, Rhaella gives her a crestfallen look. 

She recoils when Rhaella tries to take her hands. Looking pained, Rhaella draws her hands back abruptly. “It hurts, not having Viserys here.”

“I-” This is precisely what she wanted to avoid.

Rhaella holds up a pale hand. This time there was no hard expression. The glistening eyes were much worse. “He is my eldest living child; one that was mostly mine even when he was not. I love him and miss him so. But, my dear, while you cannot be a mother to a corpse you can be one to a living hostage. As it is, my son needs a strong, stable hand. I was unable to provide it. If this the best method for ensuring it, I must allow it.” 

She almost vomits. What had she done to deserve kindness and understanding from Rhaella? She had done little to warrant it.

“Do not turn away from me, Elia. I do not have much family left.”

Her breath catches. Even glistening with unshed tears there is hardness in Rhaella’s eyes. She must be cursed to receive it. She should be cursed for causing it. “That most of my family are with me serves to soothe the ache in my heart when my son cannot be. You did what you needed to do.”

She might have believed the words of a dragon if Rhaella not ended with a shudder. “Did I?” 

“Why do you say that?” How could Rhaella say it? They both know Rhaella lies to her. Pride was one thing; this…

This time Rhaella looks away. “What are you guilty of that I am not?”

The admission shocks her. It horrifies her. She whispers “Guilty? You? I am guilty. Not you; never you.” 

Though Rhaella will not look at her she marvels at the conciliatory words. “In this, in many things, my guilt is in my agreement.” 

No! “No! It was my choice. Not yours. I took it from you.”

Hands folding into fists at her sides, Rhaella nods. “Yes, this was your choice.” 

Now seeing the glint in those purple eyes she does not understand, she shudders. “Do you think I am not capable of understanding your reasons? Or were you expecting me to rage? To cry?”

She winces. “Not arguing is not the same as agreement and you want to do those things.”

Purple eyes glow at her. “Yes, I do, but, why should I when it will do no good? And if I cannot, I will not have you waste your efforts when they could be better spent elsewhere.”

She whispers, “Where should they be?”

Rhaella presses her lips together before huffing out a laugh. “It is unbecoming to ask questions when already knowing the answers.” 

haella’s face falls. “Men are grasping on the best of days. If you failed to satisfy those men at our door, they would have taken more than what they were owed. It would have been more than what we could have borne. You acted for the best-”

She finds her voice again. “When you do not believe it how can you expect it of me?”

Rhaella draws a long breath. “I can only believe that my son is a ward and my daughter is betrothed it if you do.”

“You should not have to believe it any more than I want to.”

Rhaella ducks her head. “It is necessary for us both.” 

“How can you ask that of me, Mother?” 

Rhaella looks up again, eyes glittering. “Elia, we did not bear children, we bore instruments of statecraft.”

Rhaella laughs bitterly. “You cannot give something away which was not yours. We mothers tell ourselves lies and we wives of Targaryen husbands tell ourselves the prettiest ones. We birthed them, care for them, and love them above all, but, my dear, our children belong to the crown. We must preserve the one on Aegon’s head by whatever means necessary. Even when it takes giving our children away we must do this. You will hear no complaint from me and I need no explanation from you or apology.” 

Before she can protest. Rhaella lifts her chin. “Dragonstone allowed me only the slightest respite from unfortunate realities. Both of us must bear the trappings of King’s Landing, especially this.” 

She shudders again. Outside Sunspear and the Water Gardens, the promise and the sweet memories made of those first few years made Dragonstone her home. Knowing she will never have that again makes her wish for it all the more.

It is another thing she cannot have. 

Rhaella sighs and shakes her head. “When it comes to our daughters, did you not arrange the marriage of yours too? Not only are such things necessary, you arranged Rhaenys’ to the Starks. When you can do that what do you think I cannot live with? What do you think I have not lived with?”

Not wanting to look into that early aged face, she looks away. She does not want to see the understanding there. What does it matter if she had done the same? Does it make things right? “If you have love for me at all, please, let us not discuss it any further. You should not require it, but, if it is my absolution you desire, Elia, you have it. In the end no amount of holding on to your guilt will change a thing.”

No matter how understanding or dutiful Rhaella could be, this is another mark against her. She will take it as such.

Rhaella attempts to take her hand again. A dare. This time, she is too worn to fight her the older woman about it. Rhaella arches a brow. “If you are still uncertain of me, perhaps we should discuss with me what you did with that blue vial. I was unable to find it.” 

Her hand in Rhaella’s jerks. Her eyes fly towards Rhaella who held on to her hand while calmly smoothed down her gown with the other. When had Rhaella learned-Had she gone looking-Why? “Well? If you are going to hold onto your guilt, I would rather know about the deliberate acts you should feel guilty about.”

At Rhaella’s wry, twisted grin, she manages to find her voice. “There was no deliberate act.”

Whatever strength Rhaella had seemed to vanish as she slumps back letting her hand go. “No? Elia? Truly?” 

Rhaella’s lips purse. “What did you do with it?”

“I-” She needs to explain. She must. She cannot leave it-She takes a deep breath and tries again. “I disposed of it.”

“The vial or its contents?”

Oh gods, Rhaella was asking if -“Both.”

Rhaella looked sad even when nodding. “That was wise. One ought not to have that sort of thing lying around.”

She swallows and Rhaella sighs. “I envy you.”

Horrified, she gapes, “What?”

Rhaella smiles brokenly. “I might have not been able to do it.”

Rhaella laughs. “I was not able to do it. I am grateful you did.”

If this was meant to be soothing, it fails spectacularly. Surely Rhaella does not- 

She shakes her head wildly. “You misunderstand.” She hadn’t- She shudders.

Frowning, Rhaella leans forward. “Do I? Elia, what are you saying?”

She exhales as she glances back at the door furtively. “The vial’s contents went unused.”

Why is Rhaella astonished? “You left poison unused? Why?” Rhaella could not mean-

She blurts, “You wanted me to use it?”

Rhaella stares. “You intended to, yes?”

“I-”

She hesitates. At Rhaella’s nod to continue she slumps. “Yes.”

“What stopped you?”

Should it not be obvious? How could she explain not wanting to be a murderer to Rhaella? How could Rhaella ask this of her? “There was no reason to.”

Rhaella’s eyes narrow. “Do not lie to me.”

What does Rhaella want her to admit? That she hated her good-father? Was there anyone who could not have guessed?

She takes an unsteady breath. “I mean I did not have to. By the time the opportunity-” 

She winces and Rhaella gasps. It seems for all that she seemed intent on discovering if she killed Aerys, Rhaella was not fully prepared to hear what she had to say. 

She is not offended. Making “arrangements” for children’s fostering is one thing, killing a woman’s husband and brother is something else. 

“He was already dead.”

Rhaella makes a noncommittal sound. Then, she adds, shrewdly, “You were prepared-”

She bites her lips. 

”Well? Were you not?”

That night she had been so close to using poison. Perhaps it made her a coward and a wretch. Though she had been poised to use the one weapon she had at her disposal, her relief at not having to be the one to snuff out Aerys’ life had been too great. “I was. I am glad I did not have to.” 

Obviously disbelieving, Rhaella lets out a small snort.

She tries to hold in her dismay. There is another burden she cannot hope Rhaella carry with her. She cannot admit to what she witnessed Ser Jaime do or what she helped him do. 

“How long had you held on to the vial?” 

Not quite understanding, she admits, “A few months.”

She offers Rhaella the only thing she can. She owes Rhaella this much at least. Yet, her words only allows Rhaella to shock her further. “Had you always intended to use it for one purpose or another was there a different dragon who you intended its use for?”

Horrified, she looks up again. Rhaella looks expectant. Oh, gods. This is worse.

“I would never-I could-Things were-”

Though anger had never been a stranger to her when Rhaegar had been alive, she could have never killed him or allowed another to do it on her behalf. He had been her husband. His father had always been a greater danger to her. Was that what Rhaella wanted to know?

Rhaella smiles at her. It was far from a joyful one. “Well, I suppose that answers that.”

She tries to explain, “Mother-”

Rhaella holds up a hand and she flinches back thinking Rhaella will strike her. Instead, Rhaella pats her hand. “Calm yourself, Elia.” 

Calm herself? She shakes. How could she calm herself? They speak of murder and Rhaella desires she be calm? “How can you take it so calmly?”

Instead of the anger she imagined and expected Rhaella frowns at her despondently. “I could do nothing about the dragon within my door. I should not have left it for anyone else to slay it. It was never your responsibility.”

Not her responsibility? Then whose-

She gapes. Surely, Rhaella did not-There is nothing she could say and so she does not try.

Of course, Rhaella saw through her. “You said you disposed of it?”

Unsteadily, she nods As if by rote, she replies, “I spilled it into some Wildfire and shattered the bottle.” 

“I am glad you thought to do that.” 

The way Rhaella nods and pats her hands almost seems like approval. She nearly cringes now remembering how she thought at that time doing it had been terribly convenient. What did that make of her? What did that make of either of them?

Thankfully, the knock on Rhaella’s door saves from having to answer or think that which ought not to ever be considered.

One of Rhaella’s long-time companions, a fair-haired widow, peeks through announcing there is a letter for her, not Rhaella. 

The matron announces, “It’s from Lord Varys.”

Her heart beats faster as she rises to take it. “Ah? Thank you, Lady Darke.” 

When they are alone again Rhaella observes. “You were expecting it.”

How could she say this without making things worse? “I made some inquiries about our Lyseni guests.”

The look Rhaella gives her makes it plain her effort to be discreet began and ended in failure. “All three of them or one in particular?”

She swallows thickly. Of course, Rhaella knows. “I had to be sure.”

Grimacing, Rhaella nods. “You were right to do so.”

Once more Rhaella’s agreement makes nothing easier for her. Because she does not elaborate, Rhaella prompts, “What does Varys have to say about Lord Vaelor of Lys?”

She closes her eyes. “He is who he says he is.”

“Of course he is.” Rhaella smiles sadly. To her chagrin, there was more despondency in Rhaella now than when they discussed killing her husband.

Unfortunately, she understands this all too much. What the presence of Lord Vaelor means is difficult to imagine. Why was he here? Why now? Surely, there was something to it than the announced reason of trade. What did he want? 

Rhaella muses. “He is quite comely.”

Rhaella comment unnerves her. What is her purpose? She fights down a blush. Lord Vaelor had not been particularly, discreet, but, surely- Rhaella adds, “He has a certain charm.”

Was this an observation or a trap? 

Even when Rhaegar had been lost to her long before he died and Lord Vaelor was, as Rhaella stated, undeniably comely and charming, she could not admit to any sort of desire for a man to her husband’s mother. The trouble came from knowing she could see herself being entirely charmed by Vaelor of Lys.

Coming back to herself, she hedges, “That is so, but, enough about our Lyseni guests. We will see them all at the fete tonight. Besides, too many already talk about them. It gets tiresome.”

“I can only imagine”, is Rhaella's unsubtle reply.

“Quite.”

After a few moments of silence, she gestures to the letter still clutched in Rhaella’s hands. “What does Viserys say?”

Trying not to seem too relieved, she avidly listens when Rhaella begins reading.

If she shows too much interest and laughs far more heartily at her good-brother’s prattle, she is grateful Rhaella is kind enough to pretend she had not noticed. 

It is uncomfortable knowing that if Rhaella could pretend about one thing she might be able to do the same with another. It is even more so knowing that Rhaella expects it of her as well.

Oh, but, to be a minder of other’s expectations is to be her life, isn’t it?

* * *

Rhaella gasps from beside her. On her other side Lord Tywin growls low in his throat.

She dreads looking up. When she braves it, her gown bunches where her hand clenches.

Of course, the Lyseni trio cause a stir.

Laughter threatens spill from her throat. Not quite the trio. The two of middling age dressed in Lyseni finery were not the cause of her dining companions’ unease or her own. The third man is. 

The deliberate choice of fashion is meant to capture attention. As with most in the hall, this man fascinates her. And she curses herself for it as she curses the cape with a black dragon stitched on top of an orange flame. Vaelor Targaryen, a descendent Aerion Brightflame who had never before visited Westeros who decided to do so now. 

This was a man who could have been king had Prince Maegor not been passed over. With his gleaming, silver hair and purple eyes which smiled whenever he saw her, she knows he will be directed to the seat on Rhaella’s other side. 

It is much too close to her especially because he seems eager to here. She longs to know why and dreads learning the truth in equal measure.

“Princess, thank you for inviting us.”

All three men smiled as they bowed, but, it is Lord Vaelor who addresses her. The way he looks at her…She was well and truly cursed. 

She forces herself to smile. “My lords, it is a pleasure.”

With another practiced bow and a soft smile he takes his seat.

She is thankful when Lord Tywin abruptly demands her attention.

Her relief does not last. Those moments had been fleeting since before Vaelor Targaryen announced to all and sundry in Westeros of his existence. She doubts it ever will. 

“Princess?”

She looks up to a jarring sight; two Targaryens staring at her; one with concern; the other with supplication.

“Yes?”

“I was disappointed to hear you would not be dancing tonight.”

She can feel eyes upon the High Table. The crowd’s whispers have not quite died down. They likely will not. 

_“How do you fare, Lady Olenna?”_

_“Quite well, Princess. I wanted to thank you for the invitation myself.” Though she pretends otherwise, the smile directed at her is not genuine._

_She pastes on one of her own. “It is a pleasure to have you as always.”_

_“A requirement.”_

_She tries to hold her smile even as she wants to curse this woman. Would she ever be free of tests? She tries for something approaching amiable. “One can be both a pleasure and a requirement.”_

_One arched eyebrow later, Lady Olenna replies again. “Yes, my granddaughter is to be your good-daughter after all.”_

_She nods. “It is our privilege.” And a requirement._

_“For both of our houses.” The older woman leans in, smiling conspiratorially. “Did you know when I was slated to marry a Targaryen I refused?”_

_Would that she had the same sense when her mother mentioned the possibility. Affecting interest, she simpers, “Truly?”_

_Lady Olenna preens. “Oh, yes, old news, but, it all worked out in the end.”_

_She forces herself to make agreeable noises. “That is all we can hope for.”_

_She pretends she had not heard Ser Jaime cover a snort with a cough as he passes behind her._

_With a broad glance around the room the Queen of Thorns notes, “Princess, you are hosting quite a motely group. All these people floating in from far reaches…”_

_She lets out a laugh as close to a titter as possible. “We have many houses here from the Reach.” She adds with a smile she is certain is too sharp._

_Finding who she searched for, Lady Olenna smirks, “Oh, but, I certainly was not expecting a full grown Dragon after so many years.”_

_Her head starts to hurt. “Yes, it was most unexpected.”_

_The woman smirks, “He looks-”_

_She tries to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “They are of one family. It is to be expected.”_

_The woman is quite a few years older than her good-mother, yet, remains unmistakably shrewd if the glance she receives is any indication. “It must be difficult for you and the Queen Dowager.” What does she want? Surely it is not to tell her the obvious._

_She shrugs. “Politeness to guests costs nothing.”_

_Lady Olenna’s lips tighten. She owes this old woman nothing. If she wants to wear herself by searching for what is not there all the better, she thinks._

_Unfortunately, the woman recovers quickly. “Naturally. How long are your guests going to remain?”_

_Feigning ignorance, she asks, “Which ones?”_

_She swallows her snort at the way Lady Olenna’s attempt at stifling incredulity. “The Lyseni, of course.”_

_Pouring boredom in her tone, she replies, “A month.”_

_Lady Olenna leans in again. “All three Lyseni?”_

_Repressively, she answers, “I imagine so.”_

_When Lady Olenna finally begs tiredness, she kisses the older woman’s cheek and holds her smile until the crone disappears from view._

On the first night of his arrival, she could not have refused Lord Vaelor and did not. That had been a mistake she will not make tonight. To put herself in his company while in full view of this wide an audience again is nothing she needs. She had enough of the combination of pitying glances and barely concealed titters when Rhaegar had been alive. 

Besides, she does not want to be near Lord Vaelor when he’s dressed like that. She does not want to be near him at all.

She clenches her jaw. It is both the truth and a lie. It had been bad enough remembering the time before Vaelor Targaryen came to life the last time a man grown with the Targaryen name asked her dance it had been Rhaegar after that Tourney. But, Vaelor is not Rhaegar. Who can say if that is better or worse?

“My foot is rather sore.”

Lord Vaelor dips his head as he bites lightly upon his lip in a manner all too enticing. “My dear princess, you have my deepest sympathies. Perhaps I should refrain as well to ensure you are properly attended.”

Despite herself, her breath quickens when he looks up at her through thick lashes.

“That is most kind of you, my lord, but, you I could not ask that of you. I insist you enjoy yourself.”

He lets out a moan of disappointment. “My dear princess is much too kind, yet, I do not think I could enjoy myself knowing you are indisposed.”

Lord Tywin coughs. “Do not fear on that account, Lord Vaelor, our princess is no helpless maid.”

“All the better for us all.” He has a lovely smile, she thinks before stifling her thought.

“Perhaps when the princess recovers she might allow herself to permit me an indulgence.”

She puts down her fork and turns again to the smiling man. She dares not look at Lord Tywin now. Yet, she almost winces looking at how Rhaella is blushing into her plate. “Yes, Lord Vaelor?”

“I was wondering if I might avail myself to one of your gardens.” 

From behind her a harsh breath rattles. She barely contains a groan. Arthur. Vaelor Targaryen seems to bring out the worst in him.

_Alone in her company Arthur drops all pretense. “Princess, Lord Vaelor visited the nursery. He played with the children. He gave them all toys.”_

_“Thank you for telling me. I will thank him when we dine.”_

_Arthur glares freely. “Dine? With him?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?” Because like a fool she could not help herself._

_She offers, “He is a guest.”_

_Arthur squints at her. “Is that all he is?”_

_It takes more effort than it be should to push aside the accusation. “The conspicuous are difficult to avoid.”_

_Arthur’s pale skin is replaced with a red-faced anger. “All the more reason to. Rhaegar-”_

_“Is not here.”_

_He looks as though she struck him. “And Vaelor Targaryen is.”_

_Closing her eyes, she breathes deep. Pursing her lips together, she prays for the gods to give her strength. She barely met the man and this already begun. “He will go soon enough.” Gods willing he will go and never look back if only to save her strife._

_“Swear it.”_

_Rather than desire purple eyes can cause, Arthur’s fill her with fury. “Ser, you forget yourself.”_

_“It is you who has forgotten yourself, Princess. You are Rhaegar’s wife.-”_

_That only makes her angry. No matter how he towers over her she will not allow him to continue to act as though he was a paramour she parted ways with after finding a new one. “No, Ser Arthur, I am not Rhaegar’s wife. I am his widow. Aegon is not a man grown. I cannot afford to alienate whatever ally we come across.”_

_Arthur hisses. “Vaelor Targaryen does not want to be an ‘ally’.”_

_“All should accept their disappointments with good grace.”_

_“Why entertain him, at all?” She could not say if Arthur her last statement flew by him or he ignored it entirely._

_“What are you accusing me of?”_

_Though she can feel the apology coming yet knowing this will not be the last of it, feeling the ash fill her mouth, she bites out, “Arthur, if you spent half the time with my children that you do questioning my motivations or my marriage prospects, they would love you more than any other living man. What can I do to assure you that having been Rhaegar’s wife ruined me for marriage with anyone else? Tell me because I do not know.”_

One would think he would welcome her time and attention be occupied by Targaryens; alas Lord Vaelor is not Arthur’s choice and she needs men of the Kingsguard to favor her. “You may avail yourself to whichever part of the grounds you wish, my Lord.”

While he nods amiably she pretends not to see Rhaella’s relief and Arthur’s ill-concealed approval. “Perhaps I will tomorrow after I break my fast.”

“I wish you a pleasant time.”

When Rhaella mutters something about tiredness, she tries not to give into panic. Was she leaving? What was Rhaella trying to do? Surely, Rhaella would not want-

She nearly flinches when in Rhaella’s absence, Lord Vaelor leans forward and his lingering purple eyes turn beseeching. “Would you care to join me? I imagine their beauty can only be enhanced by enjoying them with the pleasure of your arm.” 

Only Lord Tywin interjecting with an explanation of the Norvosi contingent arriving at court stops her from agreeing to it. She does not whether to thank him or snap at him for it.

Despite knowing better, it has been too long since someone wanted her company. There were many who wanted the attention of Elia, the princess, the king’s mother, the daughter-in-law. There were very few wanted Elia, the woman’s. Would it be so wrong-

The way Arthur was nearly glaring tells her it would be. Others would hold similar opinions. She almost sags in relief when Ser Jaime takes Rhaella’s now vacant seat rather than Arthur.

“I am afraid I cannot oblige you.”

“Oh?” Lord Vaelor looks distressed. Rhaegar would barely pull a frown when she could not join him when he made such a request. This one is diiferent.

She pulls away her gaze when Lord Tywin interjects curtly. “Forgive us, my lord, but, the responsibility of family cannot be taken lightly.”

Distress turning into confusion Lord Vaelor turns to her. “Family?”

She does not want to put a reason to why she offers an explanation. “One of the Norvosi is kinsman to my good-sister.”

Lord Vaelor’s palpable disappointment cause a twinge of guilt. There is more than a twinge when Lord Vaelor is quick to reassure her. “There is nothing to forgive. Your adherence to duty and family is a credit.” 

She forces herself to make a noncommittal noise. 

Her presence is not required to welcome the Norvosi. Yet, inciting incite an argument with the Hand or contradicting him in public is more trouble than it’s worth. She needs his ire less than she does Lord Stannis’ increased displeasure.

“That works out well, Lord Vaelor.”

Bright purple eyes reluctantly drag themselves away from her face. “How do you mean, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime smiles. There’s danger in that, she thinks briefly. “I have been meaning to ask you if you would care for a spar.”

The Lyseni Targaryen flicks his eyes to her before retraining them on Ser Jaime. “Yes?”

Jaime nods. “It is not very often I get to spar against someone new.”

Leaning forward, Lord Vaelor grins. “Why me?”

“Princess Rhaenys was quite taken with that toy you gave her. I do not like having competition.”

She frowns. What was Jaime doing?

Vaelor laughs. “Then, do not compete.”

Jaime shakes his head. “I usually do not for my princess’ favors. If I must, I will. I should.” 

She holds her fork more tightly. She should not be noticing how bright Lord Vaelor’s laugh is or how his eyes glow in excitement. 

“And if I bested you, would the princess’ attention be mine?” 

Air catches in her throat when Jaime smile turns sharp. “You will not.” 

Purple eyes narrow. “Oh?” 

“You will not win Lord Vaelor.”

Jaime shakes his head again, grinning that shark-like grin again. “There is only room enough for one defender of princesses and, my lord, I take my responsibilities seriously.”

Though Ser Jaime’s expression brings to mind his house’s sigil, Lord Vaelor smirks uncowed. “We will have to see, will we not?”

Jaime sneers and she hopes no one can see her flush.

When Lord Vaelor’s attention is pulled away by one of his associates, Jaime smiles at her reassuringly. Though she returns once, she does not feel grateful. 

Yet, Ser Jaime was right to distract Lord Vaelor. 

Though feeling sharp pangs at the lost opportunity, Arthur’s barely concealed distaste or how when Lord Tywin removes himself his saunter gives off an aura of accomplishment forces her to try and convince herself it is for the best. 

Nothing could or should come of this. Aegon is a child yet. She cannot afford alienating allies she does have for a newly arrived unknown in the shape of a Targaryen with a potentially better claim to the crown her son had been convenient enough to warrant. 

She almost laughs. She can tell herself that only for too long. 

To entertain thoughts of being with Vaelor Targaryen would be foolish even if she allows herself to want it. To see herself giving in to this man who smiles at her, cooed at her children, and pleas with her to spend time with him would be too easy and too welcome. It would be a sweet farce.

She cannot gamble what she has now for a man like him. Even when he seems to want her, does and says the right things, bears the family name, worst of all, he wears her dead husband’s face.

* * *

“You are upset with me.”

In front of her Jaime Lannister sprawls out in the chair with characteristic careless grace; the sort of grace she knew he practiced. She thinks about the statement posed as question and tries to not let her irritation show. 

“Not at all.”

Jaime looks grim. “You like him.”

Had she truly been that careless? Cross with herself, she admits she had been. Besides, playing the fool is not an option; not with this one. “I like what little I know.”

Lannister leans forward. “You know enough to accept his invitations.”

Flatly, she warns, “Nothing will come of it.”

“Because you will not let it.” Thank the gods he does not sound smug. She does not know how she would have reacted if he had.

Jaime frowns. “The prospect does not entice you?”

She grimaces. Of course it does; it entices too much. “Which prospect?”

The knight glances at her incredulously. “Do you not think about it?”

Dread begins filling her. “I think of many things.”

“He looks so much like the prince.” 

She only bites back a comment about annoyingly reiterated facts because of how uncertain the knight seems. That never bodes well. She is proven correct when he asks, “Do you not think this could be your second chance?”

Something unpleasantly heavy fills her stomach. “Second chance at what?”

“A second chance at love? Prince Rhaegar is gone after all.” 

Despite whatever passes for their association, she almost flings her chalice in his face. “A second chance usually requires a first.” 

“Are you saying that Prince Rhaegar was not your-”

She starts to think allowing Jaime Lannister this much insight into her is a mistake. Alas, he already knew too much. She permits, “He might have been.” 

While seeing the knight shrink back on himself in embarrassment should please her, it only tires. “He was not?”

While Rhaegar should have been her great love, he never will be. It is easy to fall out of love is when the object of your affection never returned it. When faced with what could be- “What do you think?” 

Appearing to think the matter over, he falls silent. But, of course, Ser Jaime opens his mouth again. “Why would you not want to pursue Lord Vaelor then?”

Breathing deeply, she closes her eyes. Where to begin? What could she reveal? She settles on the obvious. “I do not trust his motives.”

Jaime’s face hardens. “You think he has more sinister designs.”

“I would be a fool to discount their existence.” Lord Vaelor might be genuine or he might use her to get what might have been his. Both possibilities are unpleasant.

“And you are not a fool?”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “I try not to be.”

Even as she sickens up, laughter bubbles.

There are too many reasons why she will not let herself become Vaelor Targaryen’s fool. He was Lyseni when any husband she might be allowed to have needed to be Westerosi. Because she already been a Targaryen bride once and had no desire to be one again. Because Vaelor resembles Rhaegar too closely. Because she would always find it all too tempting to compare them. Because he makes it no secret he wants her. She owes Rhaella too much to subject her to that. Because she has been alone for long enough to want to subject herself to another lord and master. Because she could see herself falling in love with him if she lets herself.

She reveals none of this to Jaime Lannister. “It would not work.”

“Why not?”

She almost laughs. Of course, he does not see. “You were in love with someone lost to you, were you not?”

The knight’s face darkens. “I am.”

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to sneer. “What would you do if a stranger becomes known to you and they share their face and is very little like them. When you could have them, knowing you will never have what you lost, would you give in?”

He looks as though he would sick up. She hoped that would be the end of it, but, he smirks. “Perhaps it is well that I ruined your chances of ever finding a husband, no matter who it is.” 

Sighing, she decides to wait him out. He will get to whatever his point is eventually. Besides, she could use any sort of distraction. This breech in propriety is worth that at least. “How could you have managed that?”

He grins widely. “It disturbs my father how my uncle failed to inspire much warmth in you.”

Already regretting her previous thought, she sighs. “Lord Gerion shows more interest in my good-mother.”

She bites back a smile when Lannister chokes on wine. “She provides such insight into Targaryen lore.”

She laughs at his affronted look. “We both knew the match would amount to nothing.” 

Jaime salutes her with his goblet. It is hardly a concession when he adds, “Simple facts do not daunt my father.”

Now moved beyond annoyance, she rolls her eyes. “What of it?”

He looks away. Surely, all that bravery has not left him? When he remains quiet, she prompts, “Well? What have you done to be responsible for my being unwed for the rest of my days?”

He shifts. He almost looks guilty. “Remember our time in the crypt.”

She frowns. Why does he- Her eyes fly wide open. That damned fool! “Tell me you did n-”

He nods solemnly. “I did.”

She hisses. “Do you have any idea what sort of damage-”

“There is none.” He laughs, grimly and amends, “Not for you.” He smiles shyly as if as if undermining her to his father is nothing.

Her face burns from embarrassment and fury. “What do you think-”

Then, he starts to grin. Blithely, he adds, “He was rather angry.”

Settling for horrified, her hands fly to cover her face. “I ought to have you flogged.” 

The impulse to have it done strengthens when she hears snickering. 

“What possessed you to-” Of all the things, must she deal with a furious Tywin Lannister as well? She truly was cursed. 

Jaime replies silkily. “He is angry at himself.” 

He says the last two words with so much relish. Taken aback, she drops her hands and stares.

“My father is not fond of losing.” 

He practically glows with pride. One might have taken his enthusiasm for a naturally jovial personality. She knew better. He is an absolute menace who means to ruin her.

Irritation flaring again, she snaps, “Meaning?”

He laughs loudly. “A man of that sort will not allow anyone else to win a prize-” 

Incensed, she rises abruptly. She growls. “I am not a prize to be won.”

Arms wide in a gesture which is supposed to show openness, he explains, “You, my princess, are a hard won prize he lost without realizing it.”

Jaime smiles again; softly, this time. It makes her want to slap him.

Barely stifling the urge to do that, suspicion blooms in her. “Bringing your father misery delights you.”

Jaime’s face hardens. “Perhaps it does.” 

Disturbed, she asks, “Why?” 

“He gave away what I wanted most.”

Bitterness passes across his face and her breath quickens, she poses.

“From what I can tell, she is happy with her new life.”

Oh, yes, the mysterious woman. And what did he mean his father-Perhaps she was the daughter of a bannerman?

She shakes her head. What does it matter? What does that have to do with her? “You do not want the woman you claimed to love to be happy?” And that means he must play games with his father? That he must cause her ruin?

He whispers, “I do.”

She flinches at the intensity of his expression. “But, not your father?”

“No.”

She glares. “Why do you involve me in your games?”

He gives her half a smile. “‘You do not want to marry.’ Your words.”

She bares her teeth. “My memory is not faulty.”

He smiles that shark-like grin. “Father angers you of late.”

She breathes deeply. “One is not always of a like mind.”

He sneers. “Quite pitiful, truly.”

Why does she let him goad her? Furious again, she bites out, “What is?”

She could almost see the energy in him come to a fever pitch. “How the Hand attempts to guard your virtue because he cannot avail himself of it.” Nearly bouncing in his seat she starts to liken him to a child pleased at having caused trouble for all around him.

Her face sours to join her already dark mood. “You find it amusing!” And to think she was stuck with this absolute fiend for the rest of her life!

He throws his head back and laughs. Becoming more irritated, she presses, “Well? What does that have to with me?”

“You, too, should find it amusing.”

Astonishing! “Why would I?”

His shoulders rock with laughter. “You and I are alike.”

Annoyed, she shakes her head. “We are nothing alike!”

Jaime insists, “We are. After all, we do not feel guilt for what we ought to.”

Remembering Rhaella, she dares him, “What should I feel guilty about?”

His lips curl upwards. “You were there that night of my darkest act. You helped instead of turning me in.”

Her hands clench at her sides. “An act is only dark if one feels guilt for it. You do not. You revel in it. I do not revel-”

No, her missteps haunt her still. Any mistake she might make in the future will haunt her. But, what of this does Jaime Lannister know? He seems to think nothing of involving her in some vendetta against his father!

He steps closer to her. “Of late, I have discovered that I am not a good man, princess.”

She sneers. “Of late?”

He says only, “You are not very good either.”

Unconcerned with her growing rage, he smiles. “That offends you?”

She snaps, “Did you think it would not?”

“You use me.”

She flinches because it brings her short. Perhaps she does use him. She has used him as a confidant, as a crutch, to keep undesired suitors at bay, and even as an instrument of displeasure she cannot display herself. “You are not mute. If you had objections, rather than involving me in some vendetta against your father, you should have spoken up.” 

He laughs low in his throat. “But, my princess, I do not object.”

Fury edges to make room for confusion. “Then, why bother voicing it?”

He beams. “It is of the utmost importance you understand something.”

Equally angry and wary, she queries, “Understand what?”

“My role in your life.”

Eyes narrow, she hisses, “How so?”

His lips curl; scorn. Who it is for, she cannot say. “I do not like to share.”

Uncertain where this is leading, she retorts, “What of it?”

He grins wryly even when his eyes are hard. “You not some courtier’s. You are not Lord Vaelor’s. You are certainly not my father’s.”

She sneers. “All this talk and you have not answered my question.”

She forces herself to remain still when Jaime leans into her. “You are correct. It is more important to discuss whose you are.”

She snarls. “Tell me, knight, whose am I?”

He shrugs and says only one simple word. “Mine.”

She slaps him. 

Though he staggers back, he smiles as he cups his jaw. “Quite a hit. It is a good thing you do not have that knife on you. ” He almost sounds proud.

Unable to take joy in his reddening cheek, with her breath coming in pants, she hisses, “I will go get it since you seem to desire a taste.”

She growls when he holds his hands up in a mockery of apology. “There’s no need. Besides, I am not lying. You, and your children, are mine.”

Remembering too well Rhaella’s words she corrects, “We are no ones.”

“You are wrong.”

She moves to slap him again. He catches her wrist. The knight shakes his head slowly though he loosens his grip. “You are mine, Elia. You are mine to serve, mine to protect, mine to care for. I will not have anyone interfere with that; no matter who it is.”

He does not release her hand. Fear starts to settle in her. Has he gone mad? “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?”

His laughter rings out, loud and furious. “As you say I revel, I revel in being yours.” 

Disgusted, she spits, “Do you?”

Stern faced, Jaime shrugs. “As I said, I am not a kind man. You let me not have to be. How can I not want it to continue? Why should I not want to be yours?”

Glaring, she wrenches her arm free. In disgust, she waves “Why would I want this?”

His lips curl into a twisted smile. “Why would you not? You helped me. It is only right I would help you. We already keep each other’s secrets, don’t we?” 

Still tense, she drawls, “Not helping Aerys is not helping you.” She raises her chin. “Seeing as you told your father about what I told you in confidence that is not encouraging.”

He laughs hollowly. “I did not do it to break your confidence.”

“Why did you do it?” 

“I want him to realize his failings.”

She jeers. “And you want me to trust you?”

“Of course, I am yours after all.” 

She shivers at how empty those words sound in the face of his dark grin. “Why?”

He steps back and folds his hands behind his back bowing his head slightly. When she scoffs at this show of intended supplication his lips twitch. “If you can use me, why should I not be able to use you? I can only do that if I serve.”

She swallows. “Why do you want that?”

A dark shadow falls across his face. “That is what I can have. That is what we both can have.” 

He smiles thinly. “After all, we only have one another. There will not be anyone else.” 

_We only have one another._

Her entire body trembles and her mouth fills with ash.

Her husband was never hers. Her family is too far and she cannot be seen to rely on them. Her dead husband’s mother thought her a murderess. The loyalty of those around her is conditional. She sits on a throne because she has a borrowed name. Not even her children are her own. 

Bile rises in her throat. Such ugly words. Such true words.

Too tired to fight a war she suspects already lost, she replies, “If you are done with your histrionics, I should like to be done with this. I have to be elsewhere.”

He steps back baring his teeth slightly. “Elsewhere?”

She would have liked to reply that she was going anywhere away from him, only, that would be a fool’s errand. She was stuck here. No matter who came and went, she would never be free of Jaime Lannister. That much is true. 

Yet, it is a comforting thought. If she is not to be free, then at least, she will not be alone. If this is what she is allowed, she will take it. “That is an order from your princess and your princess needs to leave. You have taken enough of my time today.”

Is it a victory when instead of growing angry, he glances at her curiously? “Where are you going?”

“The nursery.”

He nods, bowing at the waist. But, of course, he will not leave her be. “Will you let me accompany you?”

When he holds out his arm she grimaces.

“My princess?” Was that a plea or a demand?

There are so many battles she might be required to fight. This one might not be worth it. Or was it? Sighing deeply, she says, “I will if you do one thing for me.”

Smiling slightly, hand extended, he asks, “What would you have me do?” 

If she ignores what she bore witness to a few minutes ago she might fooled herself into thinking him reverent and deferential. She knows better.

“To start, make certain you trounce those who oppose you when acting in the name of my children and myself.”

“If I do not?”

His smile burns brighter as though he was proud she was finally beginning to understand what madness he was spewing. It makes it easy to taunt him. “All that bravery and confidence is for show, then?”

Jaime smirks. “Not at all.” Of course, this one would be unintimidated.

“Why would you ask, then?”

“Can a man not sate his curiosity?”

She sneers. “If you fail I will make good on my promise to have you flogged.” The urge to have it done now is strong. She thinks no one would blame her. 

Ha! They would. She blames herself for having allowed this. 

“You would not.”

She forces herself to smirk. “Your father might do it for me.” 

He laughs even as he insists, “You would not enjoy seeing me injured.” 

_We only have one another._

She only admits, “I suppose you are correct.”

He laughs. “You suppose?”

“You are the most troublesome man I have come across.” More than Rhaegar, more than Aerys, more than Arthur, more than Vaelor and she will never be free of him.

His smirk grows wider. “Yet?”

“You are a weapon. Only a fool should like their own weapons damaged.” 

She weaves her arm into his and his delight shows.

He grins. “You would put me to use, then?” 

_We only have one another._

There is no question about it nor is there any need to pretend. The realization is almost freeing. He accuses her of using him and she admits to herself she does. Thinking of his dark admissions, it would only be right. If he does not mind it, why should she? “You are mine, aren’t you?”

He squeezes her hand and she lets him.

He says he wants to be of use. He might be a weapon much too sharp, but, at the very least, he does not seem to be aimed at her. It is one more task she must be mindful of, but, she does not find it too taxing. As she told Arthur, there is no reason for her to throw away a willing ally, is there?


End file.
